


fluorescent glow

by TheSubtextMachine



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Gen, M/M, Not just spierfield but a significant amount of it, Office Betting, bram is a SHY boi, mr worth (the vice principal i found his name) just wants LOVE, simon DOES date around so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14216241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSubtextMachine/pseuds/TheSubtextMachine
Summary: Simon ends up coming out during a staff meeting at his office, and it kind of changes his life???Bets are made, Scrabble is played, reports are filed, and love is found.





	1. Pilot

The whole office, at this point, is a well oiled (if generally unfulfilled and horrendously bored) machine. Their mornings operate like clockwork. 

First things first, Mr. Worth unlocks the entrance and tentatively steps in, his mind spinning on the question of whether his bag with his lunch and his agenda is suspiciously light or accidentally heavy, and breathes a signature sigh of relief when he finally gives into the urge to open it up the second he's settled in his office.

Next, ten minutes later, Ms. Albright bustles in, juggling loose papers, a phone call, and a large cup of homemade coffee that's absurdly strong. Her presence officially brings the office to life, which provides a good atmosphere for when Leah walks in, still exhausted as she flops into her cubicle.

Nick follows soon after, walking side by side with Abby. They carpool in, but there is a running bet that they are just coming from the same house. No one wins until they fess up, so it's an idle bet that doesn’t even compare to the "When Will Simon Get a Girlfriend" bet, which dwarfs it in scale and energy. 

(Mr. Worth already lost, having put his 20 dollars on two months ago. Ethan has his money on "never", while the rest have their bets on a sliding scale between next month and two years.)

After Nick and Abby, Simon slides in, holding a coffee container of four large iced coffees, which go to four of his very appreciative coworkers. Mr. Worth never got to be the receiver of this perk, since he couldn’t stand the taste of coffee, and Albright preferred the stuff she made at home. No one else seemed to be interested in it, so the number stayed at four.

A good time passes after that, and Simon has his earbuds in and Nick had finished his conversation with Abby by the time that Bram walked through the door, holding his breakfast in one hand and his phone in the other. He was one of the quieter parts of the morning routines, keeping his steps quiet and his head down.

A polar opposite of Bram, in this regard, is Ethan, who gives everyone a bleary eyed "hello" on his way in, adjusting his glasses and forcing a polite smile despite the harsh light of the overheads. 

To finish out the delicate choreography of the early morning ballet, Martin throws himself into the room, tripping over his ill-fitting shoes and smiling at anyone he could, something always a bit off with him. Whether it was a stain on his beige jacket, or music on his phone that he forgot to pause, he offered a jarring finale to the dance.

Granted, none of this really changed after Tuesday the 4th, but the course of Simon Spier's life did.

-

Worth liked holding update meeting on Tuesdays, even though the were rarely helpful given the fact that an identical meeting also happened every week on Friday. It didn’t matter much, because wasting time was the favorite activity of most of the people in the office, so they liked to stretch it out to absurd levels.

Abby and Leah themselves had put themselves in a direct competition on who could make the meeting last longer, with the official record being thirty minutes over Schedule with the help of Abby. 

They were in the middle of a delightful sidebar about the appropriateness of betting in the office (instigated by a peeved Martin, who overheard Nick putting five dollars that the stain that currently stuck on his jacket was old, while Bram insisted that it had to be made this morning. He refused to answer, for the sake of his workplace reputation).

"Well, we just won’t bet on Martin, I guess, but why not liven up the atmosphere?" said Leah, carefully doodling on her legal pad and smiling politely.

"Not to mention the supplemental income! If Simon gets a girlfriend in three months, I’m getting over a hundred dollars. I can’t pass that up!" Albright said, still working on her coffee.

"What?" asked Simon, sitting up straighter in his chair and letting his gaze look across the bland surfaces of the meeting room. He wondered if the people in the room could see the beginnings of a nervous sweat, could hear his rapidly escalating heartbeat.

"I mean, we figured that it had to happen at some time. If it’s any consolation, Worth believed in you more than anyone," added Nick, completely misunderstanding the look of fear on Simon's face and giving him a hearty slap on the back.

"That’s probably why Worth lost the bet before anyone else," muttered Martin, getting a lighthearted slap upside the head by Abby.

Meanwhile, Simon ran a hand through his hair, and refused to look anyone in the eyes.

"Man, if it really makes you that uncomfortable-" Bram started, before Simon interrupted him.

"It’s not that. It’s just that, and I wasn’t planning to tell you guys now, but I’m not gonna get a girlfriend, ever."

"Simon-" Leah started, her eyes widening and her hand reaching towards Simon's.

"It’s not the bet, it’s just that I don’t like girls, and I’m probably overreacting but this is just-"

"Wait, Simon, are you gay?" Ethan asked, and the room went quiet as Simon slowly turned his head to his coworker, emotion splayed across his face.

"Yeah."

The room was quiet for a second more, Everyone processing the news, before Ethan finally broke the silence with a hearty scream.

"PAY UP BITCHES!" he held his hands out, ignoring the soft reprimands from some of the people around the table. Nonetheless, some of them began digging into their pockets, others leaving the room to grab their wallets.

"Wait, so you bet on that too?" Simon asked, his eyes surveying the pandemonium with unbridled confusion.

"Not necessarily on the gay thing. I just bet that you would never get a girlfriend, and I was right. So guess who's gonna live large?"

"You?"

"You betcha, said Ethan, brimming with energy and smugness as cash was handed to him by the disappointed parties.

Simon's heart was still thumping, a flush still emblazoned across his face, but he knew that it could’ve gone worse.

-

Everyone focused on the well dressed hurricane of Ethan, and the blushing earthquake of Simon, but no one saw the other gay guy in the meeting. 

Bram sat, glued to his seat as he slid over a five dollar bill, and let the revelation hit him like a baseball bat. Everything was hot and obscenely dry, like a drought had wrought out Bram's body. 

Simon, cute guy and casual crush? Gay? Who would’ve thought?

Simon, guy who gets iced coffee without milk and listens to indie music? Now on the brink of available? Bram was about to faint.

His thoughts dried up, suddenly scarce. He skipped and plowed at the basic facts of the case, but he eventually hit the true problem: how was he going to act straight while still being supportive?

After all, Bram was only out to his Thursday Night Scrabble friends, he hadn’t even broached the topic to his office. Even then, he had been in the closet for all this time, but he suspected that other people would be on high alert for any gay activity, especially the nosy ones like Martin and Ethan.

He also couldn’t push forward excessive heterosexuality, or else everyone would think that he was reacting to Simon's coming out in a homophobic way. He was stuck. What is a guy in the closet to do?

Like a field suffering a drought, nothing came to grow: no plan, no idea, no concept. He was just left gripping the edge of the table, while the meeting proceeded with a sort of heightened tension. 

-

Simon could feel the change in atmosphere as everyone poured out of the meeting room, their eyes darting from place to place, as if they were expecting another surprise. A deadly silence laid upon everyone, save from Martin's nervous chattering to Abby, and Simon moved to Leah's cubicle instead of his own. He leaned against the vaguely flimsy wall, and looked at Leah, who was newly seated in her chair and had begun booting up her computer. She was eerily silent, and she had been during the whole coming out debacle.

Once her computer began loading, she finally turned her head to Simon.

"What’s up?" she asked, the words too light for her heavy tone.

"I came out, y'know, the usual."

"Awesome," she said, an awkward smile making its way on her face.

"And something must be wrong, because that's the first thing you’ve said about it. Is everything okay?"

"I don’t know, if I’m being honest. I’m just in shock, I think. It’s just gonna take a bit of time to get used to, I think. What’s up with you? How are you feeling?"

Simon let out a deflated, tired laugh.

"I think I’m in shock, too. At least it’s a good day for Ethan."

"It’s a great day for Ethan."

Another silence followed, and Simon ended it with a deep exhale into the stale air of the cubicle.

"Do good work," he said, beginning to turn on his heel.

"You know I will," answered Leah, her focus now on her computer, the sounds of rapid typing filling up the space. Simon walked out, and walked back to his cubicle. 

As unrealistic as it was, he felt like all eyes were one him as he took the long, long walk to where he was supposed to go. The energy of the office was somehow changed, not for better or for worse, just different.

The day continued like that, his mind wandering into the air as he filled out reports. Everyone seemed a bit off task, a bit scattered. They gave each other warm goodbyes as hours passed and one by one, they left to go home

-

For Bram, the hours passed slowly before the real event of the day came: Scrabble Night with the only people he was out to.

Bram had met his Scrabble friends in an improv class that he took to get over his debilitating shyness, and the shyness wasn’t cured, but his post-work loneliness definitely was. 

Tuesday nights were the only times that he improv friends were available, since they were all juggling busy schedules of kids, work, date nights, and sleeping. 

Scrabble was especially tough with this bunch, since he was fighting against at least one English major (Krista swore up and down that she majored in Business, but the diploma she has framed in her living room is for English. Bram decided that nosiness wasn’t the best way to go), but he always managed to get by. He even had a winning streak throughout October, which was unceremoniously broken by a gloating Josh.

Krista was actually winning this game, but her wife, Amy, was putting up a good fight. Both were multitasking between talking Bram through his crisis, while Josh was entirely focused on getting himself out of last place.

"So you just said nothing? The guy came out and you didn’t even give him, like, a pat on the back?" Amy asked, examining the board with a focus that was probably 50% performative.

"Although, it might’ve been weird if he just targeted Simon," Krista added, stealing a crouton from Amy's salad, leaning back on their leather couch.

"Well, I’m not saying he needed to target him or anything. But radio silence is suspicious," Amy said, finally making her move and tallying up her points.

"To be fair, it was pretty loud after it happened. Everyone had to cash in their bets and people we getting a bit pissy about it."

"Bets?" Amy asked, taking over Krista's job as the attentive party.

"Yeah, Everyone kind of bet on when Simon would get a girlfriend."

"Is there a betting pool going for your girlfriend."

"Not that I know of... shit, now I need to check," Bram said, before being nudged in the arm and reminded to make his move. Josh chose this moment to pipe in.

"Coming out is hard, and Simon is probably really stressed out. I’d say you give him some space, and then tomorrow, just have a quick conversation with him. Just a casual 'hey, I know that was probably hard, but you've got this'." 

Bram made his move, and signaled to Josh, who fell into laser focus as he set his letters down.

"What if this guy is cute, though? In a way that I don’t want to be obviously gay and come out to my entire office, but I want to interact with Cute Simon a bit."

"I think Josh's advice works there too. Just smile a bit more than usual, maybe touch his arm," said Krista, grabbing another one of Amy's croutons.

"I veto the arm touching. It never works the way you want to," Josh added, and Bram turned to him with a furrowed brow.

"I feel like there’s a story there, and I can’t figure out if I want to know it."

"Let’s just say, it starts in a hotel bar and ends in me getting arrested for arson."

"I want to know that story," interjected Amy, grabbing her wife's card to compare their scores.

"That’s what you think right now," said Josh, his eyes dark and cryptic.

"I should’ve listened when my mom told me not to make friends in my improv class, oh my god," said Bram, burying his face in his hands to hide the growing smile, listening to the harmony of laughs around him.

-

The next day begins as it always does, with some slight changes. Worth has a rainbow pin, Leah sticks a nice post-it note on Simon's desk, and when Bram walks in, he is a man on a mission.

Simon has bags of fatigue under his eyes from an hours-long phone conversation with his parent, but a warm smile on his face from the efforts from his coworkers for sensitivity. He was still settling down when Bram positioned himself at the open end of his cubicle, advice from last night filling his head.

"So, uh, Simon. Simon Spier," Bram started, cursing himself for the awkward start. It’ll get better, he figured. Just need to get into the groove of things, like in improv.

Simon turned his head, and tried to quell the vague thoughts of "hey, Cute Bram", and instead gave him an awkward wave.

"What's up, Bramster?" Simon said, before internally cringing. 

"It’s just, uh, I just wanted to say..." Bram started, before being at a loss for words, the drought drying up any other possible thing in his mind.

"Bram?" Simon asked, shocking him back into words.

"Yesterday. That was...rough. For sure," Bram said, feeling on the spot and sweaty, every second of ensuing silence feeling like a knife in the heart. Simon just widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows. Bram remembered to smile, and tried to get his face into something that at least vaguely resembled that.

"For sure. That all?" Simon asked, looking more worried than anything else.

"No!" Bram said, before blushing even more because he had said it much too loudly.

"So, what else is there, Bramster?"

"I’m, uh, proud of you, man. Good job."

Simon smiled oddly, his brow furrowing but his eyes uplifted in a kind of confused charm that made Bram's smile a bit less forced.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Stay cool, Simonster."

"I’ll try, Bramster."

"Bye."

"Bye," Simon answered, as Bram scuffled out, hands trying to cover his blush, a task made harder by the grin that just wouldn’t quit.

He got to his desk, and pulled out his phone. One message received, and one that he wanted to send. The first was from Nick, sent literally second ago.

Nick:Hey man, what the fuck was that? I heard through the walls? 

Bram typed out his reply quickly, choosing to go for the innocent angle.

Bram: Just talking with a coworker

Nick: Hmmm

Bram ignored Nick's reply, instead texting his improv friends with a simple "mission accomplished". They didn’t have to know about the stammering, of course.

Things were looking up, Bram thought, as he smiling into the loading screen of his computer.


	2. Man of the Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to the mall and goin to coffee shops.

A week later, Simon was drawing swirlies on his hand with his pen when Ethan popped into his cubicle. He settled himself into the space with the confidence of a demigod, pulling a candy from the bowl on Simon's desk and popping it in his mouth.

"So, what are you doing this Saturday?" Ethan asked, not even waiting for Simon to say hello. This jarred Simon out of his calm, causing his pen to make a long, dark blue line across his thumb. 

"I'm sorry, what? Are you asking me on a d-"

Simon was interrupted by Ethan's laughter, which he recovered from with a flair.

"No dice, Mr. Blue and White button ups. I’m just thinking that you could use some help with... that," said Ethan, gesturing vaguely to Simon's Casual Friday getup. Simon swiveled his chair to face Ethan head on, touching the hem of his hoodie with insecurity.

"I dress fine, thank you very much," he said, trying to layer on sass.

"You dress like a guy who has not read a book since he got his bachelor's degree. And I have no idea what attracts girls, but that definitely won’t cut it with guys," said Ethan, and Simon found himself considering the prospect.

"What would a makeover entail?"

"We go to the mall, maybe go to the men's section of a Target so you don’t feel too out of your depth," Ethan said, more to himself than Simon.

"I bought this at Target. It’s not like I don’t know how to shop, this is just Casual Friday."

"You just need to shop smart. And you seem to forget that I have Benke working with you for years, and you have only impressed me once."

"When was that?"

"That one time you had the _gall_ to wear that purple and orange tie. It was objectively awful, but you are not incapable of taking risks. There’s potential in you. You just need to get some help digging deep, and here I am. I can’t do Sunday, but my Saturday is open. Do you want help or not?" 

Simon considered it for a second. He capped and uncapped his pen, twirled it in his fingers. He imagined it: the careful dressing, the nice ties, the feeling of cute guys noticing him.

"Yes. Don't make me regret it."

-

Meanwhile, Worth leaned against the admittedly unsteady and uncomfortable surface of the water cooler, contemplating his fate while Albright filled up a disposable cone with cool water. He broke out of his reverie, turning to her.

"Hey, how do you stomach that coffee? You drink it every morning, and it's some intense stuff. I mean, I tried a mocha last month and practically gagged it out."

Albright laughed, the condescending kind of laugh when a child asks something you know they will never understand. A memory of comparing mochas to "chocolate milk" flashed through her mind, but she turned to her boss.

"You gotta teach yourself. Start with the weak stuff, and slowly work your way up. Why do you ask?" she sipped from her cone, diluting the bitterness still resting on her tongue. 

"Well, you know how Simon always brings that coffee in the morning for his coworkers? Don’t laugh, but I think I want to be part of that," he said, refusing eye contact with Albright as his voice slipped into something vulnerable. She smiled appreciatively, deciding to humor him.

"Wanna work yourself up to iced coffee? It’ll be a commitment, but if you’re passionate..." she drifted off, smiling.

"Could you help me out?"

"Of course," she said, resisting the urge to ruffle his air affectionately. She also held back a sisterly "bud" or "junior", deciding that he wasn’t ready.

"Awesome! When do we start?"

"Saturday. Meet me at the Starbucks in Westin, and bring cash. I am going to train you into being a stone wall against coffee," Albright said, squinting in her intensity as her voice dropped. 

Worth gave a suddenly frightened smile, terrified of her power. Thank god she was on his side, he thought.

-

The next morning, woken up by the bleary morning light through his windows and the incessant buzzing of his phone alarm, Simon had a bonafide fashion crisis. 

He stood in front of the muted browns and grays of his closet, rifling through every button up and pair of jeans. He let out a long sigh, resting his forehead on the uncomfortable clothes hangers before lifting himself up and beginning again. He went through the process again before settling for a simple turquoise t-shirt with nice-ish jeans. He hoped it wouldn’t throw Ethan into a fit of laughter (again). 

He pulled out his phone as he let himself collapse on his bed, exhausted form the mere action of putting thought into his outfit. He looked st the text from Ethan saying he was on his way, which had arrived at some point amidst the Great Clothes Conundrum of 2018. 

It took Simon a moment to fully comprehend the fact that he was doing this at all. Even just a couple of months ago, it never would’ve dawned on Simon that he was going to get a makeover from Ethan of all people to celebrate his official entry into the LGBTQ+ community. Hell, a few months ago, Simon was wondering if he would ever come out to his office at all.

He wasted some time on his phone a bit, reading and deleting promotional emails and aimlessly looking through Facebook. Eventually, his phone buzzed with a text from Ethan announcing his arrival. Simon walked to his door and took a deep breath while he made sure he had his wallet and his keys, before taking the leap of faith and letting himself out of his house. 

Whatever he was expecting out of Ethan's car, what he saw wasn’t it. He did vaguely recognize the car from the parking lot, but when Simon imagined Ethan's car, it was always a lot less... grey. 

Somewhere in Simon's imagination, he decided that Ethan must be living some kind of extravagant lifestyle, with a neon car that cost an absurd amount of money.

As Ethan honked the horn impatiently, proving that it was indeed his car, Simon raced towards it, trying to stifle his curiosity.

When he climbed into the passenger seat, he car seemed a bit more like Ethan: it smelled great, and it was meticulously clean. Nonetheless, Simon decided that he had to know why his coworker had bought this car, out of all the others.

"So, uh, Ethan. Didn’t expect this to be your car. It’s very grey. I don’t know, I figured you’d get a more bougie car," said Simon, shuffling about uncomfortably as he buckled his seatbelt. He heard Ethan let out a scoff beside him.

"Why would I want an expensive card though? I mean, I can only tell cars apart by the color, so as a status symbol, it doesn’t mean much. Why buy an expensive-ass car when you can just, I don’t know, eat?"

This was an honest answer, but Simon felt chastised despite himself.

"So, what kind of music do you want to play?" Simon asked, trying to change the topic so he’d get rid of the pit of guilt inside his stomach.

"A bit of everything, I suppose," Ethan said, starting up his car, "I mean, I’m an Uber driver, so I have multiple playlists. I can just play the White Hipster Playlist, I based it off your pandora, after all."

 _So that was why his car was so clean_ , Simon thought.

"What do you want to listen to? I don’t know if I’m in a White Hipster mood."

"We at least need to compromise. Do you like show tunes? I can usher you into gay culture with some classics," Ethan said as he began driving in earnest.

"Do I? I love musicals! My favorite was Cabaret, at least in high school. I have some songs on my phone, if you want to listen to that..."

"I’m game. Take the AUX cord and hook it up," Ethan replied with a smile, and Simon did as directed. It felt like no time had passed before the pair was in the mall parking lot, screaming along to Les Mis.

-

Albright sat at a table, small coffees of varying intensity sitting before her. She heard a clang of an opening door, and then the following choruses of "sorry, sorry, excuse me sir".

Mr. Worth had arrived.

He was certainly a sight, doused in nervous cold sweats and looking as if he was about to embark on an extramarital affair, scanning the coffeehouse with a look of trepidation. She laughed under her breath, rolling her eyes at the display, before waving him over.

He managed to get into the seat, although he somehow managed to turn the simple action into a struggle. It was oddly endearing, how he couldn’t get into a chair without knocking his elbow on some stranger's back. She wondered briefly how he managed to get this far, before he took a deep, steady breath, and reached his hand out to one of the cups.

Albright was planning to work up to it, but there he was, letting a too-hot, too-bitter drink flow into his mouth with unmatched determination.

Granted, this determination was quite temporary, as it took only a few minutes for him to slam the cardboard cup down and wincing. A string of coffee fell out of his mouth, and he desperately tried to mop it up with his napkins while still cringing from the awful, awful taste.

Albright laughed so hard, she thought her stomach almost burst.

-

It takes approximately fifteen minutes in the mall food court until Simon realizes that Ethan is mostly doing this to get out of spending time with his boyfriend's family (Ethan refuses to spill any details about his boyfriend, other than the fact that his name is Adam and his family is ridiculous). It takes twenty minutes and a lemonade refill to figure out that Ethan doesn’t have a vision for Simon's new look past "make it gayer". This led to an embarrassing google image search of gay guys, which only made things more confusing.

"Listen, I don’t want to wear shirts that are too small for me, there has to be another way," Simon sighed, continuing to swipe through the gallery of bland white dude after another bland white dude, with the occasional offensive stereotype.

"Let’s look at this another way, then," Ethan said, setting his phone facedown on the table.

"What way?" asked Simon, suppressed desperation creeping into his voice.

"When you see a gay guy in public, how do you know?"

"His shirts are too small."

Ethan did a facepalm, before wearily bringing his head back up.

"They are confident, right? And not in a douchey way. They’re confident in a way that makes it clear that they worked hard to get to where they are now, that they came out and that they struggled, and that it has only made it stronger. We don’t need to shrink your shirts, Simon. We need to shrink your self doubt."

Ethan was making it up on the fly, so he was admittedly shocked when Simon's face set into a new look of determination.

"You’re right, I need to shrink my self-doubt."

Ethan took a moment to marvel at Simon's uncanny ability to latch on to the dumbest part of a sentence with utmost sincerity, before cleaning up his lunch with a renewed vigor.

-

Albright realized that this might be a lost cause when Worth was driven to nausea by a frappe.

"What the hell, Seth? That’s literally a milkshake with caffeine!" she exclaimed, trying to keep herself from drawing attention. Worth wasn’t taking these precautions, since he was bursting with loud coughs and absurdly dramatic gulps of his water.

"It tastes like hand sanitizer! I don’t know what's wrong with me!"

Albright felt her eyebrows furrow. Hand sanitizer? When she was learning to like coffee, the issue was bitterness, never _hand sanitizer_.

"Hand sanitizer?"

"Yeah! I can’t drink it anymore. I’m sorry, I’m a lost cause. I’m sorry for wasting your da-"

"Coffee, even shitty coffee, doesn’t taste like that. No one learns to like hand sanitizer."

"Wait, what does that mean?"

Albright felt the cogs turning in her head, before she slammed both palms on the table, struck with a sense of victory.

"This is a lost cause."

"I know, I-"

"Get me a coffee carrier, we are going on a field trip."

-

"So, my man, what’s gonna make you confident?" Ethan asked, thumbing through shirts on hangers in the clearance section.

"If I knew, I probably would’ve done it already," Simon answered, feeling the silk sleeves of some ridiculous maroon number.

"What about that shirt?" Ethan looked across the aisle as the (definitely ridiculous) that Simon was apparently stuck on. It was made of shiny silk, and was a long sleeve v-neck. This was objectively horrible, but what was the harm of trying.

"It’s the worst shirt I’ve ever seen, I’m not wearing it."

"Try it on! Have the confidence to wear this mess! Confidence! Confidence! Confid-" Simon cut off Ethan's chant by forcefully whipping the shirt off of the hanger, holding it up in all of its wretched glory, and marching to the dressing rooms, ignoring Ethan's cheers. 

-

Worth sat at the second restaurant table of the day, twiddling his thumbs on top of the sticky surface of the fast food restaurant. His partner in crime was at the ordering bar, completing some secret plan that Worth wasn’t privy to.

Granted, he was familiar with the feeling of not being privy to plans that directly involved him (among them: his parent's divorce, his hiring of manager, and the last three blind dates he found himself in), so there was no sting, just an underlying anxiety. 

Albright herself appeared unpredictable in this moment, since she was certifiably hopped up on her sugar after downing all of the coffees that he didn’t finish. 

Worth let himself fall back on trusting her, despite the way that she would occasionally giggle without there being any cause, or how she loudly contemplated setting Simon up with her nephew, who was "obnoxious as _shit_ " but "a fun guy". Worth shot down the idea with all the energy he wasn’t already wasting on worrying.

He was eventually snapped out of his reverie by Albright, who confidently set down a plastic cup of creamy orange-red slush.

"What’s this?" Worth asked, fear creeping into his wide eyes.

"A smoothie. No coffee. Taste this."

"Wait, What about co-"

"Drink this."

Worth, apprehensively let his hand take the smoothie, briefly wondering if it was poisoned. Cautiously, he reached it up to his mouth to take a proper sip, refusing to make eye contact with his coworker. 

It tasted okay. A bit too orange-y for his taste, but certainly digestible.

"What do you think?"

"It’s okay."

"Good enough to drink every morning?"

"Sure, I guess," he said, taking another sip.

"Tell Simon to bring you one on Monday."

Worth's mind was still trying to decipher if the drink was at all poisoned, so he just nodded.

It took a second for it to sink in, that he didn’t have to like coffee. After years of gagging in campus coffeehouses and ruining the mood in morning dates, the existence of an alternative was shocking.

"Uhh, thanks," he said, feeling suddenly awkward that he hadn’t even thought about it before.

Albright could only look on proudly.

-

Simon looked ridiculous.

Nothing about this shirt was good. It was hard to put on, the silk looked weird, and the v-neck was way too deep for a long sleeve shirt.

He looked positively ridiculous, and he kinda loved it. 

Logical, reasonable, hoodie-wearing Simon hating this shirt and everything it meant, but it was also just a fun shirt, and Simon smiled at his reflection in the mirror, looking at the maroon and marveling at how it didn’t make him look horrible. 

"Can I see? I’m so curious," Ethan yelled, no doubt sitting on the bench outside.

Simon rolled his eyes, but his hand floated towards the metal door handle.

"I look ridiculous. You don’t want to see this," he said despite his gigantic smile.

"That’s precisely why I want to see it. Open up!" 

Simon turned the handle, feeling the click of the unlocking lock under his hand. He let the door fall open as he fell into his own pose, trying to swallow his smile.

"We have to buy this," Ethan said, his smile growing.

"It’s terrible!"

"You are smiling, Spier! And it’s on clearance. We are going to buy the _hell_ out of this shirt, and then you are going to wear it! If this maroon v-neck makes you happy, then goddammit, we are going to buy it."

Simon put his hands up, officially digressing.

"Shrinking my self doubt."

"Shrinking your self doubt," Ethan affirmed, sitting back down on the bench as Simon retreated back into his stall.

Job well done, he thought.

-

The next Monday, Simon entered with three coffees and one smoothie, wearing his shirt. Nick, Abby, and Leah all gave him the same flavor of silent incredulity, while Worth just gave him an awkward high five. Ethan made pains to give him the most sincere one-armed hug possible, and Bram merely stuttered a "nice shirt" before moving on. 

From across the room, Albright held up her coffee at Worth in a quiet toast to the changing tide. He gave a smile and a returning toast, holding up his smoothie with a newfound pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the late update. Thank you so much for reading this! Please comment, they make my day!!!


	3. Chapter Three: Accounting Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and Martin duke it out, and Simon and Leah try to pick up our favorite Waffle House waiter

Abby clacked away at her keyboard, trying to ignore the thoughts burrowing their way through her mind. The check that had come the afternoon before was the latest in an annoying pattern: Martin had somehow fucked it up.

Three weeks ago, it was inexplicably addressed to "Abby Sudo", which was not her name. Two weeks ago, the amount addressed to her was wrong, and last week it was dated for the wrong year. This week, it was Absent entirely, and she knew that she would probably have to visit Martin ( _again_ )to get it sorted out. It certainly didn't help that he would always make the most pointless small talk while fixing the issue. 

Martin acted like he kept icebreaker ideas written on his hand, with the kind of questions he asked. Instead of doing his goddamn job, he would trap her in a conversation about her favorite ice cream flavor, or her opinion on horses. 

She kept typing, but the question floated around in her mind. How was she going to get her check and evade Martin's conversation at the same time? It seemed like an impossible task, but she desperately needed her check if she was going to keep up with her rent.

Was it worth the sacrifice? Could she waste another good half hour discussing her favorite road sign? Could she do this over and over, as Martin continued to mess up her checks in tiny ways?

She let out a long sigh, pausing her typing. Her forehead fell on the keyboard mid-exhale, causing a long line of garbled letters to appear on the screen. On her inhale, she erased the keysmash and resigned herself to another discussion in the accounting office. 

Abby stood up, and began the inevitable march to Martin's office.

-

"Now listen, I’m not gay or anything-"

"Simon you literally just came out. Did you forget?"

"-but our waiter is kinda cute," finished Simon, sipping on his straw with feigned innocence. Leah immediately burst out into smiles, looking around excitedly to find the guy in question. She learned recently that Simon had a few guys that he had shaky interest in, like probably straight Cal or definitely straight Bram. This waiter, however, was a strange entity, one that she entirely believed in as a possible love interest.

He was a possible love interest with impeccable timing, as he sidled up to their table within a few seconds of Simon's confession.

"Your food will be coming shortly. Would you like a refill on your drink?" he asked, bright eyed and cheery, and Leah gave him a complete once-over. 

"Sure," she started, pausing for a second to read his name badge, "Lyle."

Lyle smiled, before heading over to the kitchen. Leah turned her head excitedly to Simon, offering him a thumbs up.

"You’re right, he’s definitely cute. If he’s straight, I’ll take his number," Leah said, taking a twin sip of her water. Simon responded with a laugh, looking around the restaurant before leaning in.

"Bet. Whoever can get his number has to pay for the next meal."

"Deal."

-

Thirty minutes after Abby's confrontation, she officially had a check and way to much information and how Martin's audition for the community theater's version of Follies went. He also told a surprisingly funny story about crying when he saw Stephen Sondheim in person, which was uncomfortably endearing.

She walked back into the office, and instead of heading to her desk to finish her email, she beelined to Nick's desk, ready to complain about Martin's scourge on her weeks. Abby arrived to the cubicle, and smiled as she leaned against the door frame, examining the image in front of her.

Nick was asleep, his forehead resting on the keyboard for good. He was on his tenth page of "hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh", and she knew that it wouldn’t be the last. Abby instead opted to steal a post it note and one of Nick's pen, to write "Martin fucked up my chhhhhhhhheck again... when you are awake I want to complain". She deliberated for a second over how she would sign it, sounding like an absolute teenager as she battled between "-Abby", "Love, Abby", or just "xo Abby". She decided on the first, figuring that any other would be pushing it.

It was only when she returned to her cubicle and popped a peppermint into her mouth that she was hit by the idea that she could just contact HR to stop it. Abby chewed on the concept for a second or two, wondering if the thirty minutes of wasted time was worth dealing with the equally (if not worse) process of getting Cal from HR to do his job, a concept he was apparently averse to.

She weighed the pros and cons in her head, leaning back in her chair.

Pro, the Weekly Martin Half Hour would stop, and she would just get her checks.

Con, she would have to work with Cal, a quiet metrosexual and former concert pianist who preferred to stay in his lane than do his actual job.

Pro, she would establish a relationship with HR in case Martin pulled more shit (which was entirely possible, given his vibe). 

Con, Martin would get all pissy and awkward if he was confronted, and since he handled her checks, that seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Abby sighed around the peppermint in her mouth and decided to wait another week to see if the situation changed. She rebooted her computer, ready to get back to work in lieu of continuing to think about Martin, of all people.

She turned immediately to her email, only to see that she had a new message from Martin, with a subject line of "We need to talk". Abby sighed again, and opened up the ridiculously cryptic message.

-

"How long have you worked here?" Simon asked Lyle as her poured his coffee, leaning slightly more over the table than absolutely, eliciting a smug grin from Simon and an eye roll from Leah.

"A month, actually. It’s getting close to my one month anniversary, believe it or not," answered Lyle, standing again and sporting a broad smile. Simon lifted his coffee mug and returned the smile and eye contact.

"Well, here’s to many more anniversaries."

Leah let out the loudest snort at this, breaking out into laughter as she futilely attempted to drink her own coffee. Lyle turned to her, and Simon's eyes widened in warning. 

"What’s so funny?" Lyle asked, smile barely faltering. 

"Nothing, nothing," Leah said as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, "just remembered a joke from last night."

Simon rolled his eyes in response, settling in for the upcoming horrendous pun. Leah had an entire inventory of them, and all were certifiably ridiculous.

"Do you want to hear it, actually?" Leah asked, and Lyle appeared genuinely interested, despite everything.

"Hit it," he said, eyebrow raised and eyes interested.

"You know I will absolutely hit it. Okay, okay, what do you call a pile of cats?" 

"What?"

"A MEOW-ntain," she said, smiling widely and resting her chin on her propped arm, and Simon was vaguely displeased to see Lyle let out a soft laugh. Realizing that he had begun to linger too long at the table, Lyle nodded and headed back to work. 

"That was the least subtle thing I’ve heard in my _life_ ," Simon said.

"Says anniversary boy. That wasn’t even subtext, that was straight-up text," Leah added, sparing a passing glance at Lyle's retreating back, only to see that Lyle was looking back, and had heard every word. They shared a moment of embarrassed eyes contact, before Lyle scurried back across the restaurant.

"I think we just blew it."

-

From: Abby Suso  
To: Martin Addison  
Subject: Re: We need to talk

Uhhhh why did you send me a shitty forward I though that something was wrong

Communications Director, Abby Suso  
SVTHSA Paper LLC

 

From: Martin Addison  
To: Abby Suso  
Subject: Re: Re: We need to talk

It seemed like something you’d like?

Also nice signature at the end of your emails ;-)

 

From: Abby Suso  
To: Martin Addison  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: We need to talk

There’s a lot to unpack there, Addison.  
1\. Why would I like a page of minion memes. Nothing about me indicates this, and i do not understand why you found it appropriate to send images of Yellow Toddlers in overalls talking about how much they love wine  
2\. Why did you make that subject line? You control when and how I get paid, it is worrying that you think it would be funny to insinuate that something went wrong, considering that my livelihood depends on this  
3\. WHY WOULD I LIKE A PAGE OF MINION MEMES  
4\. Of course it’s a nice signature, it’s required on my work emails. Not to mention that you sent this to my work email, which is all kinds of awful  
5\. ;-)???? What do you mean by this?

Communications Director, Abby Suso  
SVTHSA Paper LLC

 

From: Martin Addison   
To: Abby Suso  
Subject: A breakdown of your grievances

My dearest Abby, I figured that I could address each point on its own.

1\. Because those jokes are funny and I figured you could relate. I thought you mentioned seeing the new minions movie, so I figured that you were a fan.  
2\. As a joke? The bait and switch, classic comedy setup and punchline.   
3\. (See 1)  
4\. I don’t have your personal email, but now you have mine!  
5\. ;-)

 

From: Abby Suso  
To: Martin Addison  
Subject: Re: A breakdown of your grievances

Do you want my grievances??? Because that was only the grievances from the letter, Martin. Do you want to know everything?

Communications Director, Abby Suso  
SVTHSA Paper LLC

 

From: Martin Addison  
To: Abby Suso  
Subject: Re: Re: A breakdown of your grievances

K, send it.....  
.  
.  
.  
....;-)

 

From: Abby Suso  
To: Martin Addison   
Subject: OKAY HERE IT IS, MARTIN

1\. You keep sending me wink emoticons, and they never make sense within the context of the sentence and they are uncomfortably flirty, which I hope is not your intention  
2\. "My dearest Abby" is wrong on almost every single possible level, because we are only loose acquaintances. Also, refer to 1 about flirty things.  
3\. I understand that you thought it was funny, and the joke structure behind it, why did you mansplain basic comedy concepts to me?  
4\. You keep messing up my checks, and I have to waste thirty minutes a week to get it dealt with because you cannot stop talking  
5\. I talked about seeing the minions movie because it was a day with my niece, why would that translate into me wanting to see ""relatable"" jokes? Also, have you ever listened to a full sentence of mine? Because you seem incapable of picking up anything about me that’s meaningful, like that I HATE wasting time (which I’m doing right now, because I need to handle you and I didn’t want to get HR involved)  
6\. You have never been nice to any of my friends, why would I respect you?  
7\. You mixed up Bram and Nick when you first got here, even though they are so absurdly different????  
8\. Apparently you think that minion memes are funny which is frankly worrying  
9\. I have to have this conversation on my work email, because you don’t know how to leave me alone.  
10\. You microwave fish and it stinks up the whole office, which you’ve been told, but that has never stopped you.

If you need more, I’ve got more. 

Communications Director, Abby Suso  
SVTHSA Paper LLC

 

From: Martin Addison   
To: Abby Suso  
Subject: Re: OKAY HERE IT IS, MARTIN

That’s a lot. One question, when you say "didn’t" want to involve HR, what did that mean?

 

To: Martin Addison   
From: Abby Suso  
Subject: Re: Re: OKAY HERE IT IS, MARTIN

It means that I forwarded this thread to Cal, who will deal with it accordingly.

:).

Communications Director, Abby Suso  
SVTHSA Paper LLC

-

Simon was caught in a reverie of pink faced embarrassment, still caught on the fact that Lyle knew about the flirting. Leah had begun to laugh it off, even texting Nick about the debacle with a picture of Simon's shamed face. She was still laughing at Simon's blush when Lyle came back.

"So, do you two want a check?" Lyle asked, looking skittish enough that Simon had begun to apologize when Leah cut him off with a "yes." He takes a moody bite of his lunch, before Lyle leaves again.

"I can’t believe I just ruined it with him. His face was so good," Simon groaned, running his hands through his hair.

"His face was so good?"

"I know what I said! I’m already in enough pain!"

Leah smiled and gave him a motherly pat on the back of his hand.

"Don't worry. There’ll be tons of guys with good faces, and you will managed to get with at least some of them. Too bad we never figured which way he swung. I was so curious!"

Leah wanted to continue, but Lyle came back, eyes wide and obviously feeling a jump in his throat. He handed the check to Simon, who took it and handed it to Leah, who had the gift card they were eating their lunch off of. Lyle seemed to jump, taking the check out of Leah’s hands and handing it back to Simon before turning red and walking off again, lips pressed together.

"What was that abo-"

"Open it!" Leah exclaimed, loud enough that it drew the attention of some neighboring booths.

Simon followed the command, opening it carefully as if he feared the boogeyman was hidden inside, ready to jump out. Instead, there was just a number written in Sharpie on his receipt, with a scrawled "call me sometime" above it.

A smile split across his face, and he looked up at Leah, and then to Lyle, who was surreptitiously watching from across the room. He gave Lyle a thumbs up, to the excited claps of Leah and muttered jokes about anniversaries. 

-

Cal, the metrosexual former concert pianist, saw this coming. Martin's crush was as obvious as Abby's disinterest, but this seemed like an impossibly weird way for it to become a problem he had to handle.

"Minion memes?" he whispered to himself, reading the whole ridiculous thread with voyeuristic curiosity. And winking faces with a dash for a nose? If he wasn’t so invested in avoiding clashes with the star of the musical he was providing piano playing to, he probably would’ve ripped Martin apart with every grain of power he had.

Unfortunately, he had some vested interests in keeping Martin relatively safe, since Martin was more or less a master of collecting random pieces of information about someone, specifically information that made for great blackmail. 

Martin happened to know the sordid details of Cal's community theater experiences, starting with love hexagons with intricate webs and ending with the affair he had with a married Mormon dentist. If Martin was to be believed, he also had pictures of Cal in the role of Fiyero, when they couldn’t get anyone else who fit into the costume so he was cast (he was well-reviewed, by the way, the stage life just wasn’t for him).

On one hand, Cal wanted nothing more than to HR the shit out of Martin and save Abby from the discomfort and embarrassment of having the guy around and lurking after her.

On the other hand, Martin had a video of Cal and his ex boyfriend singing a romantic duet, only for it to turn into an actual fight ending with a breakup. Cal cursed himself for ever getting into the tumultuous word of community theater, before deciding to sleep on this impossible decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh Leah definitely tells everyone she knows about Simon getting a date... also spierfield is coming, just be patient! Please leave comments, they make my day!


	4. Epidemic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets the flu, other than Faves™️ Nick and Albright

Ms. Albright walked into the office first, a pute anomaly. The parking lot was clear, and the office looked like a ghost land. The air held the slight smell of hand sanitizer, and the whole scene became clear when she checks her phone to see a text from her boss.

DJ Worth:  
Im sickm withc thee flu..... sorry

She only needed to wait a moment before his typing bubbles come up, and they last way too long for the short message she receives

DJ Worth:  
Everyon elsee is 2,,. Othr than ncik 

Albright sighed with the weight of this revelation. She knew that nothing of substance is going to get done today, but she _could_ spend an interference-free work day doing the little tasks that crowd up her todo list. She was still contemplating into the empty space when Nick walked in. 

He was a bit late from having to take the public bus instead of his usual carpool, and he radiated pure nervous energy, either from the experience of the bus or the knowledge that there were probably infected spaces all around him.

The two shared a sympathetic look, before looking at the wide swath of uninhabited land. The office seemed to big all the sudden, without the bustle and the sound of keyboard clacking about and phone calls being taken. 

"Should we just go home?" Nick asked, not even looking at Albright.

"Let's Wait this one out. I think we can make lemonade out of these lemons."

"These flu-ridden, infected lemons."

"Exactly."

-

Bram is, he realized as he was watching NCIS while trying very to hold down his chicken noodle soup, very sick and very gay.

He almost giggled with the sensation. Sick and gay? What a combination. 

He had no idea what's going on with the show blazing across his television screen, but he thought that what just happened was a plot twist, so he laughed. He was then hit with the strongest urge.

_I need to call Abby Suso._

He fumbled for his phone, and in the midst of this accidentally lost his thick, wooly blanket. Naturally, this made him feel as if he's deep in Antarctica, so he spent an awkward amount of time trying to get resettled under the warmth, so that as much as possible was covered by the pastel green mass. Eventually, he managed to stay completely cocooned as he reached for his phone (not without a lack of effort, mind you), and scrolled through his contacts to find her.

It only took a few rings for Bram to be met by a disgruntled noise, which must’ve counted as a greeting to Abby.

"Why're you calling... I’m on my deathbed."

"Felt like it. What are you watching?" Bram asked, vaguely picking up the sounds of a movie behind her tired voice.

"Harry Potter. I threw up at 3 this morning and have been watching it since."

"What are you going to do after you watch the last movie?"

"Die."

-

Nick had started their day in the office with some music playing out of his laptop speakers, much louder than usually permitted. The jazz provided a good beat to scroll through Facebook with, and Albright was notable appreciative, considering her consistent head bob.

"Hey, Nick!" she shouted across the office, before walking closer to his desk.

"What’s up?" Nick asked, spinning to face her.

"I love the new music, but I have an idea on how we can spend these free, precious hours. You know what's always bothered me about our office kitchen?"

"What?"

"We all have the same white mugs, no personalization."

This was a detail that Nick himself had never noticed, since he was never the type to make and drink his coffee in the office. Nonetheless, he took the bait.

"Good observation. What do you suggest we do on this good day?"

"Get mugs for everyone. I would do it for Christmas presents, but you know some of the younger coworkers here much better than I do, so collaboration is probably the smartest way to go about this," she said, doing the slightest impersonation of Mr. Worth. 

"I see... I like the way you think. My computer or yours?"

"We're already here. I’ll pull up a chair."

-

"Listen... the best Hrrrry Potter book is-" Abby started, before stopping and backtracking to attempt to pronounce the word "Harry". Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. 

"Number 4! That’s the b-best! You’re just wro-" Bram started, before being interrupted by a gigantic sneeze.

"We are in hell, Bram."

"There is no hell, Abby. Only god and blood," Bram said, his sore throat making his ominous words come through in an unseemly rasp.

"What the hell does that mean?"

-

"Ok, so we definitely need to get Worth a mug that has something to do with the Backstreet Boys," Albright said, sipping on her own coffee with the lackadaisical ease of someone with a day to waste.

"Backstreet Boys?"

"He _loves_ them. His niece from Nebraska got him hooked on it."

"Nebraska?" Nick asked, seeing a whole other side of his boss' life that he never expected.

"Yeah! He visits there, like, every Christmas. He always sends me a post card, it’s one of our friendship traditions."

The Christmas cards were a casual highlight of the holiday season, because her family had a habit of storming her house for their Christmas celebrations, and the cards she got from Worth were always so dumbly positive and well meaning that it was pretty hard not to smile at them. 

"So what's his family in Nebraska?"

"What you’d expect, honestly. A brother and his ex-wife, shared custody of the kids. He puts a lot of time into being the best uncle he can be, even if it means following his niece's music recommendations. Long story short, Worth sings 'I Want It That Way' in the car."

"I never thought I’d learn so much about my boss just by buying him a mug. Do you think he’d like this one?" Nick asked, hovering his mouse over a gaudy, neon mug with the whole band on its glossy surface. Albright gave a curt nod, and he threw it into his cart.

"So, What does Leah like?"

"Other than seeing how much gym she can chew at once without breaking her jaw? Fanfiction."

"Let’s explore that section of the internet's mugs, shall we?"

-

"So, Bramalam. Why’d you call?" Abby asked, weakly fiddling with her DVD player to play the next movie.

"I have noooo idea, I just felt like it. Compulsion. Like in A Wrinkle in Time," Bram said, one hand on the phone and the other holding the wet cloth to his forehead.

"Why that book?" 

"Thought of it. That book was formative, honestly."

"How? Made you want to study physics?"

"Nah, nothing useful. Just taught me what the word 'tangible' meant."

"And that was formative... how?"

"I guess you can say that it wasn’t formative in a tangible way, but it certainly was big for me."

"You little fucker. Should I eat food?"

"What’s the food?"

"I have no idea. I’m in pain and I think I might be in the shadow realm?"

"Just make some soup and keep me on speaker."

"You’re a smart one, my good Bram."

-

"I’d say that this has been more productive than more days at work," Albright stated, filling one of the nondescript mugs with water.

"So, we’ve got Mission Mug completed. What should we do next?"

"I can order some pizza, if you want. There’s a good pizza place nearby, but they only deliver."

"Which one? The only pizza place near here that I know about is 'Slice of Heaven', and they have a dine-in option," Nick said, leaning against the office kitchen sink while Albright slipped on her water.

"It's called Patty's Patties. One of my friends started it, so I’m in the know, so to speak."

"How have I not noticed it?"

"Patty could only afford the signage that made it look like a massage parlor, you know that font? That’s all she could manage, so most people wouldn’t recognize them, but they've got some fantastic pizzas. The real deal, my man."

Nick seemed to contemplate for a second, before reaching to fill a mug of his own.

"I’m in."

-

"How much money do I have to give you to kill me right now?" Bram asked, whining into his phone as his stomach twisted about in pain.

"Twenty."

"Twenty money?"

"Yesssss. What are y'r last words, buckaroo?" Abby asked, her voice muffled a bit by the pillow her face was smashed into. A fog of burgundy floated across her face, she was on the edge of delirium. 

Bram shared this feeling, as he stared at his fingers, held up above him. He was fascinated by the way that light could just... do that. Then, with a spark of heavenly, dizzy inspiration, he slurred his possible last words.

"The drapes go or I do. Those were Oscar Wilde's last words, so they’re mine."

"You fool. You’re last sentence is about oscar Wilde, not the drapes. Also, Oscar Wilde was gay as hellllll," Abby said, before becoming baffled at the laughter on the other end, "Why are you laughing?"

"Because _I'm_ gay as hell, so of _course_ I’d quote him. Why would I quote, like, Jesus?"

"You’re gay?"

"In theory. Oh shi-"

The phone hung up, and Abby stared at the screen with confused worry until deciding to just go to sleep. She would deal with that in the morning.

-

It took a couple of days, but soon, everyone was back at the office. The office itself was tinged with the slight smell of pepperoni pizza, and Nick and Albright kept keeping count of who was in the office and who was still sick.

It was only when the whole office was present that Nick pulled out the box underneath his desk, while Albright tried to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, team, I know that this has been a rough week," she began, sounding more like a teaching than a coworker.

"You don’t know my life," muttered Cal, who looked suspiciously hungover, much to the smug amazement of Martin.

"So, while we were in the office, we figured we could give you guys a little present," Albright said, motioning to Nick to bring the box out, and to a place in the office where everyone could see.

"Should we do this like an award ceremony?" Nick asked, his smile widening when Albright gave a hearty nod.

"First up, I would like to give our fearless, flu-ed out leader, Seth Worth, the first trophy, which is meant to replace the boring coffee mugs in the kitchen. Yes, Worth, you are allowed to fill it with something other than coffee. So, for best boss and worst typer when sick, this award goes to... drumroll please..."

Nick made a little drumroll on the wall next to him, which Leah and Simon quickly joined in on.

"Mr. Worth!" Albright exclaimed, pulling the Backstreet Boys mug out of the box with a flair. He walked up to accept it, wide eyed and smiling, and he began laughing when he saw the design on its face. Albright gave him a quick hug before he walked back to his spot, and the ceremony continued.

"I would like to present the next one," Nick said, and he rifled through the box to find the mug in mind. After the clinks of ceramic on ceramic, he found it, and he continued with a passionate "This one goes out to the only person in this office who had to guts to send me a selfie while they were in the midst of an illness... Simon? This one is for you, bud."

Simon took high fives as he made his way to grab his "Closeted Theatre Geek" mug, which he almost immediately dumped his iced coffee into.

"This next one goes to Ethan, the one guy here who has the guts to yell 'yass', even if it's a joke," Nick adds, handing Ethan his "the only straight I am is straight up bitch" mug, and Ethan rolls his eyes despite pouring his own coffee into the mug.

"Martin? You are the head of accounting, so you get this one," Albright said, holding up a Radiohead mug with only half interest. Abby hummed a line of 'Creep' to Leah by her side, and they both broke into giggles. 

"This trophy goes to the person with the best taste in post-it note color palettes. Abby, it's your time to be appreciated," said Nick, holding up a 'Rampant Feminist' mug with impressive showmanship.

The awards went on in similarly spectacular fashion, with Leah getting a "I! LOVE! FANFICTION!" mug, and Cal getting his very own "don’t talk to me" mug. The grand ceremony ended with Bram getting a "Favorite Child" mug, which was accompanied by a kind hair-ruffle on behalf of Albright.

-

Later, when Bram and Abby could be in the same room, it took a long couple of moments to try to figure out if the gay conversation happened in real life or an influenza dream.

Abby figured she could go up and test it somehow, so she awkwardly skirted near Bram's desk on morning. She grabbed a tissue before she began.

"So, I had a weird dream about you, when I was sick."

"Please god, don’t let it be a sex dream," Bram jokes, smiling easy. There was a twinkle of anxiety in his eyes, but Abby was too busy laughing to notice that.

"It wasn’t, don’t worry. It was about, uhh, last words, I think. You pulled out some weird quote," she said, searching his face for any kind of recognition. Bram just raised his eyebrows, laughing a bit.

"Which quote?" 

With this question, Abby found herself leaning far enough in the "dream" camp to ignore the possible coming out. She let out a sigh of relief, before scouring her mind for a quote that had nothing to do with Oscar Wilde.

"You said that you’d speak random words from some language, so the person by your deathbed wouldn’t know your last words and no one could judge them. Apparently, Dream Bram find some glamor in the concept of his last words being 'cheese, heart, koala', and no one being able to know that."

"Dream Bram is a genius, oh my god," said Bram, breathing his own sigh of relief that he managed to avoid an accidental coming out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s right, I’m not dead. I’m gonna keep updating, I’ve got the rest of this planned out to the mid season finale. Check me out on @thesubtextmachine, where I accept prompts, or drop me a sick (pun intended) comment to make me smile


	5. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole office goes to see the show that both Martin and Cal are a part of in their community theatre. Hijinks ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's right im back on my bullshit.... yall thought u had seen the last of me

Leah sipped iced coffee out of her iconic mug as she listened to Simon rant about his date the night before. There were the classic details of his anxiety that he ate and/or drank way too much, anxiety that was quelled almost immediately when Lyle kissed him outside of the restaurant and asked him to be his boyfriend, _officially_ , even though they had been quietly monogamous before.

“So, it’s official? The eagle has landed?” Leah asked as Abby passed by and slowed down, taking interest in the conversation.

“What eagle?” Abby asked, and Simon could only get more excited to break the news.

“I may have a boyfriend. Officially. As in, the boyfriend eagle? It has landed,” Simon half-gloated, receiving high fives from Abby and Leah.

He was about to continue the play by play story of how he became a taken man, but was interrupted by Martin bursting through the door in riotous fashion, holding two fistfuls of posters and a messenger bag hastily slung over his shoulder.

“Guess what, friends?” yelled Martin, ignoring the low but audible muttering of “coworkers” from Abby’s tired voice. His voice boomed across the room nonetheless, getting the attention of everyone in the office.

“What, Martin?” asked Abby, casting an eye roll to Simon and Leah beside her.

“I’m gonna be in a fantastic show, and I bought you all tickets,” he said, ignoring the way that Cal basically fell out of his chair with shock and intense, overwhelming fear of what was about to be discovered.

“What day?” Albright asked, arms crossed and mind already searching for an excuse not to go. 

“Tomorrow. I know that you are all free-”

“That’s why you asked if I had a date?” Leah interrupted, one step away from becoming indignant.

“Yup, and since you all can come, you can all come together! It’s going to be an awesome office outing to see me in the leading role of our local theatre’s production of… drumroll please…” Martin said, causing Bram, sweet Bram, to reluctantly tap his hands on his desk, “Follies, by Stephen Sondheim and of course… starring yours truly.”

The groan is withheld in the whole office, and Worth decides to throw in the towel.

“I, for one, am excited to see the talent of someone in this office. You, and the entire office, will see me there with a bouquet in my hands and ready to applause.”

“Well, I will not be the only one in this office showing off their talents…” said Martin, slowly gesturing to Cal, who was burying his face in his hands.

“Who else is in it?” Albright asked, taking the bait.

“Our one and only… Cal! He’ll be playing the piano in the fantastic symphony,” he said, and the eyes of the office turned to Cal, who looked as if he would rather die than make eye contact with the people he worked with.

“Really?” asked Abby, suddenly fascinated. For the first time in her career, Abby got a sense of what he did outside the office. For someone as closed off as Cal, this was some valuable information.

“Yes, I can confirm, I will be playing the piano in the orchestra. Don’t come because of me, though,” he said self consciously.

“No… come because of me!” said Martin, trying to get all of the attention back on him. 

“Gross! Keep it at home, man!” yelled Nick, getting some laughter from the folks around him.

“Nick! That was perfectly innocent and you know it. Keep your head out of the gutter, man,” Martin said, looking towards Cal as if it was his job to fix it.

“Sorry, Martin, I don’t know what you want me to do,” Cal said, hands held up in a helpless position.

“Stop him?”

“Okay I’m gonna be the one to put the kibosh on this… scintillating conversation. Get back to work,” said Albright, and everyone else followed in line. 

“Wait, before we get back to work, can I ask a quick question of Martin?” Simon asked, and everyone in the office steeled themselves for the inevitable clusterfuck.

“Of course, my man,” Martin responded, his face opening up with such excitement that Simon found himself almost charmed. 

“Can I bring a plus one? Because my boyfriend is a big fan of musicals,” he said, and he saw the office erupt in one way or another in his periphery vision, but he refused to see it head on. Off the top of his head, he figured that Worth fell into his usual kind, fatherly shock at all Simon’s successes, and that Albright had a proud smile on her face. He could only see Martin’s face, in all of its overreacting excitement.

(For the record, Bram sank in a mix of melancholy over Cute Simon being unavailable and the small reassurement that he was still into guys, which was always the nicest little boost in his mind. The idea that hypothetically, Simon could like him back, was very… pleasant.)

“I’ll give you my ticket,” Abby said quickly, as if trying to call dibs on it. 

“No!” yelled Martin, a bit too loudly for the still office. This drew the eyes of basically everyone, causing an embarrassed blush to grow on Martin’s face and neck. “I want _all_ of you to be there,” he continued.

“So, what should I tell Lyle?” Simon asked.

“I can get him an extra seat.”

“One with the block of seats we have? I mean, I’m sure those would be pretty hard to get, and I want him to meet you guys.”

“Don’t worry, I can finesse it, I’ve got connections in the box office,” Martin said, trying to fight the remaining blush with a faux-smooth voice.

This was actually true, considering that there were still seat available in the row, and that Martin’s sister was married to the head of the box office. 

“Wait a minute, so we can’t donate our tickets to Simon? To show that we support him and are allies and for that reason only? I would love to see… the show, but you know what I want more? To show Simon that I care,” Nick said.

“But I can get him a seat, you don’t have to-”

“No no no, Martin! I support my friend and the fact that he’s dating a guy. He gets my ticket. No question, Simon, I support you.”

“Simon, if you want to bring a gay friend or another boyfriend, because let’s face it, you’re a catch, I will gladly give you my ticket. In fact, no, you don’t even need to ask! You have my ticket,” Leah said, leaning over to give Simon a hearty pat on the back as he stifled his giggles,

“No, you guys, I can just ask-” Martin tried to interject, before being interrupted by Abby, standing up and pushing her chair back with the force of her feigned passion.

“I have the best idea. Let’s give all of our tickets to Simon to show that we’re allies to the LGBT community. This office is an office of love, and we are going to show it. Martin, you know what to do.”

“How is Simon going to find that many boyfriends in such a short span of time?” Cal asked, trying to appear as serious as he can.

“He can literally just stand up on a chair in Starbucks and yell that he’s looking for boyfriends to take to dinner and a show, and he’ll have a ton of people in line. It’s official. Simon and all of his boyfriends are going to Follies with our tickets, no takebacks,” Abby said, taking her seat again.

“Sounds like a plan!” chirped Albright as she ducked back into her work. Martin sputtered wildly as the office went silent in agreement, and returned to your work. He ended the debacle with a strangled, hoarse cry into the empty, laughing air of the office.

“You guys are joking, right?”

-

The next night, everyone in the office (with the awkward addition of Lyle) was crowded into the lobby of the theatre, and Martin was stuck backstage, trying to fight his urge to peek through the curtains to see the audience. He stood behind the thick veil itself, his consciousness split between pondering the way that fiction can be more real than reality and what he’ll eat for dinner that night.

Jenny, one of his favorite techs, tapped him on his shoulder, causing him to swivel around, his face wide with the high of nerves.

“Hey, Martin, are we still on tonight for the whole romantic thing? With that Abby girl?” she asked, the plans visibly running through her head. The plan was simple enough: show ends, bows start, Martin gets mic, intro speech, the cast starts a song, he asks her out. Romantic, daring, everything that Martin would love.

“We’re still on. Quick question.”

“Shoot.”

“If I need to duck out for whatever reason-” Martin began.

“Why would you need to duck out?”

“I don’t know! If I meet my soulmate at intermission or something? And she isn’t Abby, which is-”

“Whatever, whatever. So if you need to duck out? Just say something normal when I hand you the mic. Something about them being a good crowd, I don’t know,” Jenny said before some voice burst from the walkie talkie on her hip. With that, she sped off, blowing a quick kiss to Martin to wish him good luck.

-

“So for the unacquainted, this is Lyle, my boyfriend,” said Simon, keeping one hand chastely on his boyfriend’s shoulder while all of his coworkers (sans Cal and Martin) gawked to their heart’s content.

“You’re Leah, right? You were with Simon when-”

“Hell yeah! He remembered me. Don’t get jealous,” Leah gloated, shooting a faux-serious look to Simon, who could only raise an eyebrow.

“Of what?”

“I stayed in his mind… you should keep a better hold of your mans…” she said, swaying a bit with amplified swagger. Abby gave her a light smack upside the head, which only caused Leah to smile harder.

“I’m pretty sure I stayed in his mind too,” Simon said, trying to fight his own jokey smile.

“Of course you did! You’re... Sidwell, right?” Lyle joked, drawing back from Simon to dramatically furrow his eyebrows.

“Simon, if he doesn’t know your name, I don’t think he’s the right boy for you,” said Worth. He elbowed his way up from the back of the crowd, before looking seriously to Lyle, who had been a bit spooked by the time that Worth put a hand on his shoulder and said “His name is Simon. Simon Spier. And I support him, but I want him to date a boy who knows his name.”

“Thanks dad,” Simon said. His demeanor was rapidly oscillating between rolling his eyes and looking extremely worried at Worth’s inability to understand a joke.

Unfortunately, Simon tried to diffuse this debacle with another joke, and Worth didn’t suddenly gain an ability to read a room overnight. Instead, he shifted his hawk eyes to Simon instead of Lyle, who was now trying to sweat out the primal fear of Worth’s death stare.

“Dad?” Worth asked, his face caught in an emotion between touched and worried.

Simon realized his mistake the second that Worth awkwardly tried to give him a hug, which Simon uneasily reciprocated. He made a face to Lyle over Worth’s shoulder, and he found Lyle caught between amusement and worry. Simon himself was feeling a bit conflicted between how insanely awkward this was and how nice it was that Worth was so willing to take on the mantle of father figure. It was sweet, he guessed. But it was also so, so weird, because this hug was going on for way too long, and Lyle had to slap his hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

He separated from Worth, and patted him on the shoulder a couple of times, trying to coach himself into a face that was much more serious.

“For professional reasons, I won’t call you dad again, but I’m glad that, you, uhh-”

“I understand, Simon,” Worth interrupted, and Simon felt so much odd affection for him in that moment, that for a second, he genuinely wanted to dive back into the hug.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lyle said, as pointedly as possible, “who’s excited for the show?”

“Not me,” Abby said. 

She would’ve continued, but as if perfectly timed, an ensemble member, in full costume, came rushing straight through them, muttering “fuck you, Cal”, wiping away tears as they barrelled through the double doors in front. 

“What the fuck has Cal been doing in community theatre?” Leah asked as the ensemble member got into their car and raced away from the theatre. 

-

Cal kept his head cradled in his hands, sighing on a neverending breath as Martin paced around him.

“You did what?!”

“Taylor found out about the whole thing with Vivian last year, and they just got really mad and ended up screaming and running out of the theatre. It’s not a problem, right? Like, the director won’t yell at me for that whole thing, right?” Cal asked, trying to not pay attention to the dirty glares he received by passing actors and orchestra members.

“Of course Garrett is going to be pissed, you dumbass! All the choreography is going to be messed up. I’m the only thing keeping you from getting run out of town.”

“What about my piano? Shouldn’t that be something keeping them from murdering me on the stage?”

“Not really, Jonah can sight read. It’s literally just me,” Martin said, sounding like the vocal manifestation of a shrug. 

“He can sight read Sondheim?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit,” Cal said, distracted by the apparent ability of Jonah, who he had only been an acquaintance to. Should he get to know Jonah better? The thought was interrupted by Martin, who was once again pondering.

“Do you think that Taylor might’ve said something near the office folks?”

“Oh no, they came out through the lobby…” Cal realized, caught in an exponentially growing panic before that too was interrupted by the stage manager, telling everyone to go to places.

And so, with a deep breath and eyes fluttering closed, Cal went to sit at his piano as he heard the house begin to fill. His heart began to beat faster, trying to clear his mind of images that were filled with the disaster that he just created.

-

The show was going fantastic, Martin thought, and when it had reached its eerie, drifting end, he was in total ecstasy over it all. The lights in his eyes, the adrenaline rush, it was all so intense, that he was shaking when the applause started. 

He squinted his eyes against the light, trying to spot the office in the audience, and as if it were fate, he saw her: Abby, clapping her heart out and her lips caught in that little half-smile, and his heart pounded even faster. It hit a rhythm, as he bowed, as he held his hand up to the tech booth, and finally as Jenny rushed towards center stage, holding the mic in her sweaty grip.

He looked out, giddy with the future, he took a deep breath.

And then Abby turned to Nick, and he saw it.

They had been holding hands.

Shit. SHit. Fuckk. WHat the fuck was he supposed to do, the girl he loves in the embrace of another, of NICk what the fuuuclk.

He took a deep breath, his eyes closed, and he willed all his strength together.

“This is only our third performance, so I’ve heard a lot of clapping, but there is, uh, one person who deserves it the most. So, uh, can Jenny come to the stage, because I’ve got a big romantic thing to do and it might be awkward if you’re in the tech booth,” Martin said. This was why he got kicked out of his last improv class. Jenny was, in fact, not in the tech booth, but literally backstage, ready to come bounding out.

“I thought this was for that girl from your office?” Jenny said, sweat breaking out at the top of her brow, and the beginnings of a smile on her face.

“Sometimes you gotta have a ruse. So, uh, Jenny… what’s your last name?” he asked, kneeling to one knee, to make it all seem more _Martin_.

“Williams,” she answered, her breath taken away and giggly.

“Well, Jenny Williams, will you go on a date with me?”

“Absolutely!” she said, now in perfect range of the mic, before she knelt down with Martin and kissed him square on the lips.

It was at this moment, beneath the scorching lights, with the love of his life in the audience, and sticky lip gloss getting on his lips that Martin realized something.

He had fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this! If you liked, feel free to comment, and if you have a request, check me out on tumblr @thesubtextmachine, where I've got an open askbox. Love y'all! And no, i have not abandoned this fic, I'm just v slow


	6. Internet Stalking

“Bram! How dare you!” Josh yelled, looking down at Bram’s Scrabble play of “milquetoast” as if it had killed everyone he had ever loved.

“Sorry for being good, Josh,” Bram replied, leaning back onto the couch in a silent gloat. The entire Scrabble Squad had been putting up with this bullshit for the entire game, only able to plot their revenge as Bram pulled winning move after winning move.

“Bram… you are Old Testament god. You know that, right?” Krista said, punctuating it with a sip from her white wine. 

“Explain,” he said, his voice colored by the confident smirk that he still had, reveling from his lucky streak.

“Powerful and mean to people who adore you,” she said, causing a ripple of tipsy laughter through the room.

Amy leaned her forehead on her wife’s shoulder, sighing deeply, burying her smile into Krista’s arm.

“I forfeit. My mind is too focused on formulating revenge to keep playing,” Josh said, taking his letters and throwing them into the bag. 

“Coward,” Bram said, looking Josh in the eyes as he reached over and popped a cheese puff in his mouth, chewing and swallowing without breaking eye contact for a second.

“I already know my revenge,” said Amy, finally breaking from her shy facade.

“Pray tell.”

“Guess who found the oft-discussed Cute Simon on Facebook last night.”

“ _You wouldn’t_ ,” said Bram, his voice dropped low with mortification. The Scrabble game was entirely forgotten, his mind now stuck on the possibility of his crazy friends messaging his crush.

“You seem to misunderstand that I am not a coward, for I am a fool. And god made the awful mistakes of giving a fool some fiber optic cables. Therefore, yes I would,” said Amy, faux-intense and holding back giggles.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” Bram whined, realizing his fate. He couldn’t control his friends, nothing could. “Just don’t message him, okay?” he pleaded, and they whipped out their phones in unison, with lightning speed that they shouldn’t have been capable of.

He didn’t see them click through their phones, since by that time he had buried his face in his hands with a long, deep sigh. 

“Please please _please_ don’t embarrass me, I work with this guy,” Bram said, his plea being ignored by all of his friends, already two months deep into Simon’s feed. 

“Who’s Lyle?” asked Krista, already looking into _his_ profile.

“Simon’s boyfriend. He apparently has a day job at Waffle House, and makes bank DJ-ing weddings,” Bram said flatly.

“He apparently has loads of other side hustles,” said Krista, looking through the feed with laser focus, “uber driver, freelance graphic designer, active Ebay seller… Simon’s boy is making tons of little bundles of cash.”

“Not as good as having a steady, full time job though…” muttered Amy, eliciting a smug “mhmm” from Josh. Bram felt like he was burning up from embarrassment, which only got worse when Amy found a shirtless picture from Simon’s trip to the beach.

She not only screenshotted it, but she also sent that picture to the group chat, so it could remain forever in the Scrabble Group Record. Bram immediately deleted said picture from his own phone, but couldn’t delete the very loud conversation around him about Simon and how “ripped” he was, followed immediately by discourse on how “ripped” wouldn’t be the way to describe it and the ensuing search for the perfect adjective to describe the shirtless pic.

“Can you guys answer a question?” Bram asked, becoming much more nervous, which apparently attracted his friends’ eyes towards him more than anything else.

“Yeah?” Josh asked, taking the bait.

“Do you think I have a chance?”

The question stood in the air for a second or two, as Krista took appraising looks at Simon’s Facebook, then Bram, then the Facebook again.

“Hell yeah you do,” she finally responded, igniting a smile on Bram’s face.

-

The next Monday, Leah also happened to be ominously scrolling through Facebook, with the purpose of satisfying a new curiosity in Cal. Ever since hearing about the Abby and Martin Saga (at length, even to the point of reading the infamous emails), she was able to identify the one loose cannon in the whole affair: Cal, the HR Rep. Nothing in the interactions were out of character, except the one man who’s job it was to deal with these sort of conundrums.

To satisfy this curiosity, which had been mulling over and over in her head to the point of keeping her up at night, Leah found that the only proper method was to use her work computer to stalk the hell out of Cal. 

Leah was in the 2012 piece of his feed when she hit her first break as an investigator, in a comment on an otherwise benign selfie, taken with him and someone he was apparently in a show with.

It shone on the screen.

_Alyssa Riedland, 5:46 pm, November 14th, 2012:  
No amount of shiny, pretty pictures will cover up how much I hate you and how much you hurt me._

The responses were equally golden.

_Jeremy Liset, 6:01 pm, November 14th, 2012:  
Lol shut up, Cal and his whole “””breaking and entering”” thing was just a joke, oh my god_

_Alyssa Riedland, 6:10 pm, November 14th 2012:  
Don’t put it in quotes. He BROKE into my fucking HOUSE and stole my C A T!?!? How can you defend him???_

_Keenan Holger, 6:12 pm, November 14th 2012:  
It was his cat first………….._

_Leonard Julin, 6:18pm, November 14th 2012:  
Y A L L this is his public account his coworkers are on this.. Don’t bring ur theatre drama into this_

So ended the thread, and for Leah it was like a peek inside Pandora’s box: tantalizing and without a doubt dangerous. She sent Alyssa Riedland a friend request, and leaned back into her chair, lips curled in a mischievous grin.

This was going to be _fun_.

-

Simon woke up to the sound of three very quick _ding_ s chirping from his phone, way too late at night. He rubs his eyes, and pulls the charger cord out of his phone to see what the commotion was. He wondered if Martin was messaging him about a new business venture (read: pyramid scheme) that Simon just _had_ to be a part of, or even if Abby was having one of her late night moments of inspiration. 

It turned out to be neither, it was just three friend requests from three separate strangers. Simon squinted his eyes, and in a fit of exhausted curiosity, he opened the Facebook app to see if he could recognize this squad of “friends”.

His first step was friending them back, naturally, so he could get the inside look. He had to know these people from somewhere, right? Why else would they friend him like this?

He friended them back, and then felt his eyes droop. He resolved to solve this mystery in the morning, he was way too tired to play Sherlock.

Nonetheless, he took a momentary scroll down his feed. It was the usual lineup. Worth’s album recommendations, Leah’s cats, and some cute post from Bram about his Tea of the Day.

Bram’s profile was easily one of the only things keeping Simon on that app, since hearing about the drama of his mom’s friends certainly wasn’t it. Bram was pretty quiet at work, but he apparently felt comfortable enough online to reveal the most crush-worthy details possible.

Granted, Simon knew that Bram was straight and therefore the crush-worthy details weren’t for him, but it was objectively sweet that he went to all of his sister’s violin shows, and gave daily reviews of the fancy tea he bought.

Distracting him from his train of thought, one of the mysterious friends accepted his request, and Simon got a chance to properly snoop.

Their only friends in common were Bram, Cal, and someone Simon went to high school with, which only narrowed the suspects down to high school stalkers or some coworker business. There were also a couple of pictures taken at Martin’s theatre, which opened up the possibilities for other friends who just hadn’t connected on the Facebook train (for example, out of solidarity with Abby, he unfriended Martin). 

Simon began to contemplate the possibility of sending a direct message, before getting distracted by another accepted friend request, followed directly by a stream of likes on posts. They kept coming, far past the appropriate date. They only stopped near the early 2015, with a particularly cuddly picture of him in a thick sweater and a mug of hot cocoa.

Simon blinked slowly at his phone screen, before setting it aside and deciding to do this manually: through classic interrogation. As he drifted off the sleep, he decided that it was time to use all the techniques he learned from cop shows. He was gonna good cop/bad cop them, and all the other cool things. He fell asleep wondering who his second cop was going to be.

-

“There are strange things afoot at Jennings Inc…” Simon murmured, leaning against his desk and taking an ominous sip of his iced coffee.

“What do you mean?” asked Bram, wide eyed as he tried to scoot a bit closer to Abby. He figured that out of everyone in the office, she’d be able to protect him best if shit went down.

“Don’t tell anyone, but…” Simon said, beckoning the early birds at the office (Bram, Abby, and Ethan, since the rest of the office was either sleeping in or going to an event for their kid’s school) to move a bit closer. “Leah sent me an interesting screenshot from Cal’s Facebook page, some comments saying that he stole a cat. Then, three _total strangers_ friend me. Also, there’s a new pothole in the road on the way here, and I’ve never seen it before. Can they get that big that fast?” 

“Depends on their attitude,” said Ethan, sounding oddly sincere.

Bram began to feel the heat… what if Simon connected the Scrabble Squad to this? Could his cover be blown? His nervousness began to ramp up, and he scooted a bit farther from Simon, as if to establish a clear space that screamed “Not Gay! No Homo Here!”.

“I’m curious about this Cal stuff. He’s such an office enigma… We know that he plays the piano, and that he’s in the same out of work crowd as Martin. But what else? Who _is_ our Human Resources Representative?” Abby asked contemplatively as she waved a pen in the air, nodding with a philosophical air.

“We also know that he probably stole a cat,” added Simon.

“I bet he’s gay,” said Ethan, drawing looks from the other three.

“What?” asked Bram, feeling the heat turn up. His mind ran wild: what if Ethan’s gaydar was firing up in the office, and it was just off by a few yards. This upped the chance of him being found out, right? His internal, crazed monologue was only interrupted by Ethan continuing his theory.

“Gay or bi. Probably bi. I’m getting the basic vibes, and he’s in community theatre. There’s that and the whole car thing-”

“Car thing?” Abby asked.

“Yeah, his car has the pride sticker from the last governor election,” he said, casually as if this were well known information.

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Do any of you guys notice _anything_?” Ethan asked.

“Well, to be fair, we only figured out that Simon was gay when he told us, even though you apparently knew from day one. Maybe you just have next level intuition,” said Bram, hiding the tremor in his fingers with easy laughter.

“No, I have basic common sense.”

“Wow, _fancy_ ,” Simon said, before the peals of laughter began again.

-

That afternoon, Simon had a spare moment, right in between finishing a minor project and getting assigned a new task, and he logged onto Facebook. Another one of his Mystery Friends had accepted a request, so he checked out their full profile.

Apparently, her name was Krista Jennings-Bryan, and she was married to someone named Amy, and she was an architect who moonlighted as a standup comedian, and off the top off his head, Simon couldn’t come up with any sort of connection to him.

He scrolled down a bit more, only to find a tapestry of dog pictures, with some interruptions of venue announcements and political posts.

Political posts… that rang a couple bells. Maybe they’d met at some event? He went to an event two nights before, and while he couldn’t remember a Krista off the top of his head, he could imagine having a conversation and switching numbers with her. 

His mouse hovered over the Private Message button… this could be resolved _so quickly_ , but there was a certain sort of thrill in this detective work. 

“Hey, Simon?” asked someone from behind him, making Simon quickly click out of the tab and whip his head around, feigning composure he definitely didn’t have.

It was Bram, leaning against the side of his cubicle, looking cute and a little terrified.

“Yeah? What’s up, Bramster?” he said, running his fingers through his hair and punctuating it with a snap and finger guns.

“Not much… um, I got the, uh, Jameson file with me,” he said, holding up to manila folder while trying to surreptitiously peek at Simon’s computer screen, because the glance he got looked like Facebook, and if it’s Facebook then chaos could ensue the second he connected the dots between the Scrabble Squad and Bram.

“Cool. Cool cool cool,” said Simon as he grabbed the folder, lightly fanning himself with ti to try to cover up the nervous blush from almost being caught cyber-stalking.

It then hit Simon that fanning himself was a bit odd, so he figured he could cover it up as casually as he could, with a “Is it just me, or is it hot in here?”. Granted his “as casually as possible” was by no means casual. It was Business Formal at best.

“Yeah, it- it is pretty hot in here,” said Bram in response, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants and wishing that he could be literally anywhere else.

“Yeah.”

“I can, uh, ask Abby to lower the temperature?” Bram asked. 

“Or, I can just take off my sweater, I guess,” Simon said, already trying to shoulder it off, but having to fight with his office chair.

“Why not both?” 

“Then I’d be cold.”

Silence, again.

“You’re right. I’m gonna, uhh, jet,” stuttered Bram, pointing behind him and doing his own finger gun/snap combo.

“Cool. Cool cool cool, godspeed. If you get, um, hot again- I mean, you’re already hot, I guess. Not in- well, yeah, in that way too, but nevermind, just- Goodbye?” stuttered Simon, and Bram only gave him a smile and eyes wide as saucers before he left with a wave goodbye.

“Jesus Christ Simon, you are a gay disaster,” Simon muttered to himself, before hearing his phone buzz with a text. 

He checked it, only to see that it was a selfie from Lyle, standing outside on his break from working at the restaurant. Next, some typing bubbles, then a simple “Some lady asked for one sausage patty and ‘ice juice’. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

Simon laughed, letting himself forget the debacle that was his work life. 

-

Leah held the printed picture in her hands, the screenshot of that comment section, as if it were treasure. She refused to let it get ripped or sweated upon as she carefully walked down the halls, feeling like a lawyer walking down the halls on a crime show while badass music played in the background. When she arrived at the door of Cal’s little office, she was properly swept up in the furious thrill of being cool, and she knocked authoritatively enough to make herself feel a bit intimidated.

“Yeah?” Cal yelled, obviously not picking up on the tone of this encounter. Leah rolled her eyes and opened the door, letting the smell of his office (sage candles and the lingering remnants of a tuna sandwich) hit her in a cool wave.

“I have some information that might interest you.”

He only raised his eyebrow, pulling away from his desk.

“Is this about a union? Because if this is about a union-”

“No! No, this is… personal. This is between you, me, Abby, and Martin.”

Cal sighed, beckoning her to come into his office. He stood up and sat on the edge of the desk, looking a little bit like a guidance counselor trying to meet a kid on _their_ level.

“Did Martin send more of those creepy emails? Because I hate them just as much as-”

“Not that I know of. This is of the original set, in a way. I have something that might compel you to take some more action,” she said, holding up the paper and handing it over. He looked at it with a worryingly disinterested eye, before handing it back.

“Let me be frank, Leah. I don’t appreciate what is obviously your attempt at blackmail, and I would like to politely say that this is nothing compared to what some… others may have on me. Am I saying that I’m getting blackmailed within an inch of my life by someone on the other side? Not necessarily.”

“Martin?” Leah asked, remembering the way he so easily chose his side. At first she thought is was some Good Ol’ Boy Bullshit, but if it had to do with his secret life, that might make things a bit better, actually.

“I’m not at the liberty to disclose that information.”

“Did you major in Bullshit Corporate Lingo?”

“Yeah, I did my term paper on Synergy. Now get out of my office, and shred that,” said Cal, waving his hand too dismissively for his liking.

“What, am I disrupting your synergy?” she asked, holding up her paper with a taunting sort of glare. He tried to grab it, but didn’t make it.

“You are, in fact. And you don’t wanna mess with me and my reputation,” said Cal, jumping for the paper and narrowly missing it again.

“Are you gonna steal my cat?!” she yelped, having to do some Matrix-style acrobatics to keep him from getting the paper, since he and his limber community theatre body were now intent of getting his hands on it.

“SHHHHH that is _not_ public information, and I didn’t steal Mittens! She was mine first!” he said, distracted just enough that Leah could race to the door. 

He stilled, looking a bit murderous in the glowing light of his office’s lava lamp. How did she just notice the lava lamp? What kind of grown man has a lava lamp? Her thoughts were interrupted by Cal, slowly lowering his arms and speaking in a calm, soothing voice.

“Listen, listen. I don’t want to make a scene-”

“Fine. Don’t,” she said, turning on her heel, smiling at the frustrated groan coming from behind her at Cal’s interrupted confrontation. There was the sound of a door being slammed, and then she returned to the office, remaining totally unchanged and quiet as before. She breathed in and out, taking in the non-sagey air of the office. So calm, so sweet.

She heard the sound of feet on carpet, and Ethan rushed past her, practically sprinting before stopping, turning around to look at Leah’s baffled face.

“What the fuck is going on?” she asked.

“The usual nonsense,” said Ethan, before running off again.

So calm. So sweet.

-

“Today was all kinds of crazy,” said Bram as he laid a letter down on the Scrabble board, looking world weary, as if he was centuries old.

“Tell me more, tell me more,” sang Josh, taking a sip of his wine and giggling kindly.

“The usual. Someone came to my desk to discuss a mysterious rash, the printer jammed and when it started working, it started printing things from the office next door. And the final kick in the nuts?”

“Emotionally, I hope,” said Amy as she laid down her own word on the board.

“Yeah, emotionally. Thank god, wouldn’t put it past them, though. I made a fool of myself in front of Simon, thanks to you guys. Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” said Bram, looking pointedly at each and every one of them, giving them the proper fatherly staredown.

When they all looked sufficiently guilty, he took a deep breath and continued.

“I saw him online, checking out a profile. That turned me into a stuttering mess. I made a fool out of myself-”

“Was it one of our profiles?” Krista asked, her brows lowering into a soft V.

“I think so,” he said, looking a bit more unsure.

“So you’re not sure? You acting like a fool was your own damn fault,” said Krista.

“Objectively I know you’re right, but emotionally? I am still very wounded by the fact that you single handedly ruined my love life. I will never date again.”

“If I had one more letter I could spell out ‘Bullshit’ on the board. Anyone wanna donate a U so I can share with Bramster exactly what I think of that?”

“Here you go,” said Amy, smugly handing it across the table.

Laughter erupted on the table as he spelled it out, placing each letter down with a comedic, confident flair. Bram smiled, rolling his eyes as everyone clapped his shoulders and talked about him being such a catch, which simultaneously made him feel worse and better, like any good Scrabble night should.

With a sigh, Bram figured that these may just be his best friends, and he was kind of okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very seriously want to assert that this fic is not abandoned, I'm just slow as shit. Do not lose hope, I have the willpower of a fuckin goose. One time, out of sheer force of will, i stopped having the flu for 45 minutes so I could give a presentation. Don't underestimate meeeee
> 
> Also please comment, and feel free to check me out on the other parts of the interwebs, like tumblr where my url as @thesubtextmachine.


	7. Tinder Isn't a Reflection of Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tinder shenanigans

Worth puttered around the office with barely concealed nervous energy, drawing the curious eyes of all his coworkers. He stopped by the occasional desk, dropping off a stack of paper on certain desks for their filing. Judging by the sweaty indents on the top of each stack, the situation seemed to have developed into nervous sweating. 

This was distinctly dangerous, since a nervous Worth was the worst kind of Worth. 

Abby was the one who stopped him from his pacing, starting by asking a question about deadlines that she already knew the answer to followed by a casual “are you okay?”. Few people could make that question sound as casual as Abby, it was a resume-worthy skill.

“Okay? Um, yeah, just a bit nervous, I guess,” he said.

“Why?”

He looked around the office, before toning his voice down a bit.

“I have a date tonight, with someone from Tinder. I really want it to work out, she’s super sweet. Her name is Tina, and I guess I’m just nervous,” he said, fidgeting as much as a standing grown man can.

“That’s wonderful! I bet you’re going to absolutely kill this date-”

“Why would I do that? I like her, and I’m not a serial killer. Oh my god, do you think I’m-” Worth stuttered his eyes widening. 

“No! No, it was just a figure of speech. I do not think you are a serial killer,” said Abby, slowly and kindly as if she were explaining it to a child.

“Well, uhh, good. I feel like that would put a damper on the work environment,” said Worth, visibly fighting the urge to drop the papers to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants. Abby laughed, a bit too loudly. Above all, she just wanted to make this a good environment for _him_ , trying to push down the way that it made her feel a bit like a mom. Her laughter calmed him down, a sweet victory for both of them.

“So, where are you and Tina going?” she asked.

“To that Cheesecake Factory on 5th… I got a Groupon. Do you think she’ll like that?” he asked, and Bram, who was listening from his desk, decided to pitch in.

“Women love thrifty guys, you’re fine. Do you know what you’re going to wear?”

“I’m glad that there’s at least one lady magnet in this office,” said Abby, interrupting the train of the conversation and giving Bram a blush and a bucket of anxiety.

“What?” Bram asked.

“She’s right, ever since Simon came out, we’ve lost the main guy in the office who’s got girl skills. Since it’s not Ethan or Martin for sure, and Nick doesn’t seem like the dating type, you’re the best candidate for the role. Is that appropriate for a manager to say?”

Bram’s forehead felt a bit hot, this line of questioning felt distinctly dangerous. Abby nodded, affirming Worth’s assessment, and Bram wished that he never took this godforsaken job.

“Well thank you, I guess? Being a- uhh- lady killer.. Is hard… work?” 

“That’s why you get all the girls, you’re so gosh-darn _cute_ ,” said Abby smiling genuinely as she leaned over and booped him on the nose.

“Seconded!” yelled Leah from her own desk.

“Jesus Christ, can everyone hear this conversation?” Bram asked, directing his words to Worth.

“Yeah. Everyone but Cal and Albright. But Albright popped out to witness this horror show, like, five minutes ago,” said Simon, and Bram felt so embarrassed he could crumple.

“I’m going back to work,” he said, ducking his head (and the attached blush) into his cubicle, feeling like flames were about to consume him, he was so embarrassed.

“If this show is losing its eye candy, I’m going back to work,” said Ethan, ignoring Abby’s outraged squawk. The rhythm of the office set in again, the quiet with an occasional beep of an alert or phone call. Bram’s blush was still there, and he wondered if it would ever go away.

(It did, but it took _way_ too long. He might want to get that checked out with a dermatologist.)

-

“Would you rather… be a god or date a god?” asked Lyle, using his straw as a stirrer for his iced tea. The golden lights of the restaurant (one of those casual dining places with build your own salads) shined on his face in a lovely way, and Simon wondered for the ninth time that month if _now_ was the time to say “I love you”. He decided not to do it now, and instead decided to answer the question.

“Date a god. All the perks, none of the responsibility,” he said.

“That’s where I’d have to disagree with you, babe! Because if you and God break up, he can send lightning on your ass! If you’re god? You send the lightning on _his_ ass,” said Lyle, taking a passionate sip of his tea.

“I wouldn’t be that dumb! Why would I break up with a god?” Simon asked. Lyle shifted a bit in his seat, before shuffling out.

“I’m going to the bathroom. If my mom calls, please answer it. If I miss one more phone call, she’ll send lightning on my ass,” said Lyle, before walking off. Simon took a couple bites of his chicken fried steak, before his phone, as if on cue, buzzed on the table. He grabbed the phone and checked the home screen, before seeing that it was a text.

Then he saw who the text was from.

The Tinder app.

Oh. _Oh_.

Lyle was on Tinder.

“Coolcoolcool nodoubtnodoubtnodoubt,” muttered Simon, at no one in particular. Questions flooded his mind. Why was his boyfriend on an app for hookups? How often did he use it? Were they even monogamous? Simon just assumed but this… his mind was running in circles. He was on the verge of telling Lyle that he _loved_ him, and was Lyle… dating other people? Who was he dating? Did they have herpes? Did Simon have herpes now? How do you deal with herp-

“Did my mom call?” asked Lyle, coming in from the bathroom lie nothing had happened, like Simon’s life hadn’t been flipped on its axis. Simon put the phone on the table and decided to play dumb, not wanting to cause a fight until the bill was paid.

“Nah, I just started playing with your phone calculator because I got bored,” said Simon. Lyle laughed fondly, and Simon tried to comprehend that the man who was laughing was also talking to other guys… in a romantic(?) context… (do people use Tinder for platonic reasons? To find friends?)

“You’re such a nerd!” said Lyle as he slid back into the booth, “How do you even play with a calculator?”

“I, uhh, tried to write ‘boobies’, but it was a bit off because of the font and all that,” said Simon, hoping he didn’t seem suspicious. Lyle obviously didn’t catch on, since he took a bite as if Simon’s world hadn’t been flipped on its axis.

“I thought you were gay... Do I need to be worried?” Lyle asked, smiling wickedly.

Simon thought, for a moment, if he was the one who might need to be worried, but he pushed the thought away to laugh along with Lyle. Things were cool as a cucumber, he thought, trying to force the thought through his mind until he believed it. 

Cool as a cucumber, for sure. What a good-no, fantastic- date night.

-

Worth sat at a table for two, feeling cooler than a cucumber.

No, that was a lie. He was feeling more nervous than a sinner in church. Than a fish at the fry. Than a juice box at a kids birthday party.

(Worth had a mental habit of supplying fun similes whenever he got nervous, which all of his exes hated, even the ones who called it cute when they first knew about it. Would Tina be one of those exes?)

His mind was simply racing with all of the possibilities, good and bad, of this date. He pulled out his phone for a second, before putting it away. He wanted to be ready for Tina when she came. The waitress came before Tina did, naturally, and he ordered a Coke before realizing that the sugar would do nothing good for is nerves, so he switched the order to a water, before switching it to a beer and then back to a water.

The waitress looked at him with kind eyes, like she totally understood his anxiety, and he let her allyship wash over him and calm him down for a second. She smiled and walked away, and Worth figured that he could check his phone now, and even though he was worried that the very moment he pulled his eyes away from the door was the moment that Tina would walk in, he pulled it out and opened up his phone.

There were two alerts, one email from Albright about her upcoming vacation and one reminder to take out the garbage. No word from Tina. He rationalized that she was probably driving, so she wouldn’t have texted him anyway. One deep breath in, one deep breath out, one mental reminder that things were probably going to be okay.

-

Meanwhile, Simon was facing the small problem of losing his fucking mind.

They were halfway through the entrees, and periodically, Lyle would check his phone and smile, before shutting it off and returning to the conversation like nothing was happening. After the third time this had happened (not that Simon was keeping count, or anything, because that would be absolutely unreasonable and crazy, right?), Simon laughed a bit himsel.

“Who is it?” he asked, smiling good naturedly and hoping that Lyle couldn’t see the blaring alarm bells behind Simon’s eyes.

“Just a friend,” said Lyle, and his voice was so easy and casual that Simon wondered how often his boyfriend had told that lie. If it was a lie, of course. After all, maybe Lyle _was_ using Tinder platonically, and Simon was just losing his mind. 

“From where?” Simon asked, and he knew he had gone too far because Lyle’s eyebrows scrunched in some unpleasant way, and his face flickered into a frown before it was schooled into something more pleasant, more fake. 

“From work. Why do you ask? Are-are you jealous?” asked Lyle, and Simon felt a flash of anger at the question. Was Lyle trying to make this a Simon Thing?

“No! I was just curious, Lyle, I don’t understand why you want to turn this into a fight,” he said, trying to seem as innocent and confused as possible. Lyle wasn’t buying it, but Lyle obviously didn’t want a fight either.

“Whatever, I just got confused at the question. It’s fine, I’m just-”

“Babe, it’s fine, I was a bit curious and I guess the way I said it made it sound like I was suspicious, which I’m not-”

“Babe? When did we start using pet names?” asked Lyle, and Simon startled at the sudden change. Lyle seemed more riled up about the name than anything, and Simon couldn’t figure out why that hurt his heart.

“I don’t know. We’ve been together for a long time, I figured that an occasional ‘babe’ or ‘sweetie’ wouldn’t be _totally_ uncalled for,” said Simon, and he ended the sentence with a bite of food, a silent signal to Lyle for him to remember that this was still a date night, and therefore not necessarily a good time to fight.

“I don’t like babe, personally,” said Lyle with a prickly sort of tone.

“Do you prefer Honey Pie?” said Simon, and he smiled a bit with it, lightening the mood a little bit.

“Nah,” said Lyle, returning the smile, albeit a with a forced air.

“Ahh, I know it. You’re a perfect candidate for Bee’s Knees,” said Simon, and he pointed at Lyle with his fork, almost as if he was about to knight him with the name. This made Lyle laugh, sweet and sparkling in a way that got Simon’s mind far away from the shock of the Tinder text.

“That’s not it either… perhaps Sugar Jugs? Or Spicy Baked Ziti?” asked Lyle.

“Oh, I see you like food related names!”

“It’s because I’m a snack.”

-

Tina was thirty minutes late, and Worth had finished the appetizers he had ordered for both of them, which honestly felt pretty embarrassing. It also felt embarrassing that the waitress kept giving him sad looks, and that he had to repeatedly check to make sure that this was the right restaurant and the right time.

Worth, however, was an adult, and wouldn’t have an anxiety attack because a lady friend of his was half an hour late. He just ordered another plate of mozzarella sticks and checked Facebook. 

He was having a crisis, if he was being honest. Was Tina standing him up, or was he just jumping the gun? Had he been burned too many times before? Was he… damaged goods? Oh gosh, he thought, am I broken? Am I unlovable?

Okay, _now_ he was having an anxiety attack because a lady friend was late.

-

Simon was having his own anxiety attack, because every time Lyle checked his phone (which was a lot, by the way… was that a bad sign?), his blood pressure rose. The question just kept spinning around his mind, until he was done with the entree, and Lyle was looking at the menu instead of the phone. Simon felt just about ready to burst, his foot tapping beneath the table and his heart race speeding up and-

“Do you want dessert?”

“Are you cheating on me?”

The questions were asked at the same time, so they both just looked at each other, totally shell shocked. Simon’s heart just kept speeding up, and he didn’t know how to ask the question any other way, so he just went for the other option.

“No, I’m full, I don’t think dessert is a good ide-”

“Do you think I’m cheating on you?” asked Lyle, his eyebrows creasing and anger firing up behind his eyes. Simon’s eyes felt as wide as saucers, and he wanted to just leave.

“It’s just, when I checked your phone for that call that you wanted me to pick up, I saw something from Tinder and I don’t know if you’re using Tinder platonically, or something, but it really freaked me out and every single time you look at your phone there’s another mysterious text that’s making you smile all secretly and I just… it just looked kind of like you were talking to other people.”

“You, uhh, saw the text from Alex?” asked Lyle, looking sheepish, a reaction that Simon didn’t expect. He was ready for anger or shock or sadness but not… embarrassment.

“Yeah, I guess? If that was from Tinder-”

“Okay okay, I know it looks really bad, because I’ll be honest, it is pretty bad, but I may have been hooking up. But I love you, baby, and I will stop, it was just a moment of weakness.”

Simon’s heart shattered into a million pieces, and he stared at Lyle, looking so apologetic and sweet, on such a classic date night, and Simon wanted to cry, but he also wanted, very badly, to stand up for himself.

“If you wanted an open relationship, you could’ve told me,” said Simon, feeling as if he’s been burned so deeply that there wasn’t a cure. This was fucking awful. It made him miss being single, which made him realize that he could be single, that no one was making him stay with someone who had been apparently cheating on him. Even if he loved Lyle, which he certainly did, he didn’t love _this_ Lyle, the one that said “I love you” for the first time in a fight, as an apology. 

In no uncertain terms: Simon did not fuck with that.

“I’m so sorry, I really fucked up but-”

“Yeah, you fucked up. I don’t think this is going to work,” said Simon, his voice much more confident than he felt. Deep inside, he was shaking, so deep in that shock and sadness.

“S-Simon you don’t have to… not so soon...” said Lyle, trailing off and looking so, so lost that for a moment, Simon almost felt sorry for him.

“I think I’m going to go,” he said, scooting out of the booth in an awkward way, the sounds of denim dragging against the leather too loud for the serious, heartbreaking moment.

“Are you breaking up with me?” asked Lyle, his voice shaking in something that was either anger or sadness, but Simon couldn’t really tell.

“Yeah, I think so… no, I know so. This is over,” said Simon, feeling strong for the first time in a while. 

“Wait, at least pay for your half of the-” shouted Lyle as Simon walked away, and the door closed behind him before he could hear the end of the sentence. When the cold air hit his face, Simon had a moment of realization, where it truly set in what had just happened.

With these event weighing heavily on his mind, drowning it in anxiety and shock, Simon staggered to a nearby bench, practically throwing himself onto it. Tears started dripping down his face, almost of their own accord, and he pulled out his phone, frantically scrolling through his contacts to find the person to call for this, the person who’d understand him. Tears obscured his vision, and he tapped on a contact that he was pretty sure belonged to Abby, and the phone started to ring.

-

Worth was crying in the bathroom when his phone rang, buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out so frantically that the phone almost landed in the toilet, but he caught it in the nick of time and answered, trying to wipe away the tears to they didn’t land on the screen of his phone.

“Hello? This is Seth Worth!” he greeted, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking too much.

“Ph shit, I-I’m sorry, it’s, uh, it’s Simon and I just-”

“Simon, are you okay?” asked Worth, suddenly more concerned than sad.

“I was, uh, calling someone else and-” his voice broke, and a sob came through, “-I tried to call someone and I’m so so sorry for ruining your night-”

“Simon. Simon Spier. My employee, my friend. You are not ruining my night, because my night was already ruined an hour ago,” he said, and Simon must’ve noticed the tremor in Worth’s voice, because the tone on that end of the phone changed quickly.

“Oh my god, did the thing with Tina not go well?” asked Simon, and Worth wanted to cry even harder, because his coworkers actually _cared_ and that made him so much more emotional than he expected.

“It didn’t go at all. She stood me up,” he said, letting himself be truly honest about it for the first time that night. He didn’t even have the guts to break it to his waitress, who was clearly invested in that plot line.

“Oh, shit! I just got broken up with!” 

“D-did we both have? Awful nights?”

“Where are you?” asked Simon, and on the other line, Worth could hear shuffling.

“Why?”

“Because Lyle is coming out any minute now and I want to eat food with a friend,” said Simon, and Worth felt the first happy tear of the night stream down his face.

“The Cheesecake Factory on 4th.”

“Can I invite friends?” asked Simon, and Worth felt so _lucky_.

“Of course.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

-

When Simon showed up at Worth’s table, his face still tearstained and puffy around the eyes, he received the tightest hug of his life before he sat down. Together, they ordered the fourth plate of mozzarella sticks of the night and two salads, and the night started in earnest.

“Tina doesn’t know what she’s missing, this is pretty baller,” said Simon, after hearing a monologue on the struggles of being the coolest kid in college turned “lame-o” from Worth.

“Right? I don’t know what Lyle thinks he’ll be missing, because you are pretty cool. It kind of sucks that this is the first time we’ve hung out like this, but you know what? I appreciate your company!”

“Me too, it’s-”

“Let’s get this party _started_!” half-shouted Nick, walking down the carpet and drawing a couple of angered glances from the other diners. Behind him was Abby, and Worth almost started crying again.

The two of them pulled a nearby table to adjoin theirs, and soon they were in the fray, trying to figure out if they should ask for a kids menu (“I don’t know, man, I’m in the mood to color and those menus have some kickass mazes and puzzle on ‘em”) or the adults menu. 

After ordering some sodas and a kids menu for everyone at the table, the party went into full swing, because Albright came storming in, with two tissue boxes in hand.

“If Nick wasn’t lying, which I’m pretty sure he isn’t, y’all had shitty nights, so here you go.” She bent over the table to give a box to Worth and then Simon, who was stuck between being really entertained and deeply touched. Worth clearly leaned into the latter, because a happy tear rolled down his face, which was quickly mopped up by the tissue.

“Oh, Geez! These are the moisturized tissues!” exclaimed Worth, his eyes going starry with some childlike wonder. 

“Holy shit, you got us the good stuff?” asked Simon, pulling out a tissue and dragging it across his skin, confirming that it was indeed the expensive, moisturized tissues. This was what made him want to cry a little.

“You got those for them but didn’t bring a box for me? I feel insulted,” said Nick, and Albright dug into her purse and pulled out a third box, which she quietly handed to him. Everyone started to stare at her, and she held her hands up defensively.

“Knowing Worth, I figured he might need a second, but Nick is my favorite, so…”

Any further interrogation was broken off by Leah storming in, stealing all the spotlight as she dramatically stopped in front of the table.

“He cheated on you?!” she said, looking angry as if Lyle had cheated on _her_.

“Yeah. Want a mozzarella stick?”

“Always,” she said as she took a seat, angrily chomping on it and squealing a little when it burned her tongue.

“So, wanna form a gang to get revenge?” asked Abby, looking up from her maze for a second/

“Wait till Ethan gets here, he’s done that before, and I want an expert’s insight,” said Leah, punctuating her sentence by slyly nabbing Simon’s menu, earning an angry yelp.

“Hey! I just ended a relationship, steal someone else’s menu!”

“I’m not gonna treat you with kid gloves, my dude. Also, yours was closest, so you can’t really blame me for-”

“Yes I can! I can blame you all night!” said Simon, who’s voice would’ve sounded angry if it wasn’t coming from a genuinely amused smile.

“Wait a minute, let’s backtrack here. Ethan’s coming?” asked Worth, looking shocked out of his mind.

“He said he would, he wanted me to order something so there’d be food ready when he got here… I forgot what it was, though, so if any of you guys know what kind of food he likes, that would be good to know,” said Leah.

“He’s gay, so he probably wants, like, a Caesar salad with water. No ice. If he wants an entree, chicken parm,” said Simon. Leah looked at him, her mouth agape, and he defended himself. “What? I’m gay, I know what we like.”

“What’s up, bitches!” shouted Ethan from the door, marching towards them and earning even more offended glances than Nick did.

“Hey, I didn’t get the chance to order for you, what were you planning to order?” asked Leah as he took a seat.

“Water without ice, Caesar salad, and chicken parm, duh. I’m gay, what else would I order?”

Worth gave Simon a high five, and the table burst into laughter, warm and content.

-

A couple coworkers later (Bram and Martin, both of whom were there for the tail end of the impromptu office party), as well as a total of eight trays of mozzarella sticks, everyone had begun to move out so they could go home. They split the bill eight ways, and gave the waitress a massive tip, and then everyone went home.

Everyone but Simon and Worth, who lingered at the front of the restaurant, looking at the night ahead of them, lit by flickering street lamps and car lights.

“This was a pretty good time,” said Worth, contemplatively. Simon had a long walk to his car, and Worth had a long, lonely night ahead of him.

“It was. It couldn’t have happened without you,” said Simon, turning to Worth, seeing the pain etched into his face over years of rejection and loneliness. 

“Not without you either,” said Worth, putting a fatherly hand on Simon’s shoulder.

 _No, dumbass_ , thought Simon, _I’m comforting you right now_.

“Worth, just don’t forget that all this Tinder- this dating stuff… I don’t know how to say it, but it’s just… just because some stranger on the internet can’t see it, you’re still awesome. Tina made a mistake, because we all had an awesome night, and she could’ve had that. This isn’t on you. You aren’t, like, less just because- I don’t even really know what I-”

“I get the sentiment, kiddo. Thank you,” said Worth, and Simon gave him a short hug, a silent motion saying “I’m here for you”.

“I gotta go home to my real man… Dick Wolf, the Law and Order guy. He’s the only man who’ll never let me down” said Simon, and he began to walk away, holding one hand up to wave goodbye.

“Simon! Thanks for the pep talk, and I promise that you’ll find love. Goodnight!” yelled Worth, and he walked his own way. 

“I have Dick Wolf!” yelled Simon, now a faint echo in the night. Worth smiled, and dwelled in the quiet comfort that even if Tina didn’t appreciate his worth, at least his friends did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading! Leave a comment to brighten up my day, and have bright days yourself!!!!


	8. Gay Bar Superstars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl im just doing this because ainsley told me to

**[SCRABBLE SQUAD]**

_Krista_ : aight bram, are you still in?

 _Bram_ : I was never in. At no point in time did I ever even imply that I was “in”.

 _Amy_ : INCORRECT! Last time we all played together you said that you’d think about it

 _Bram_ : I thought about it and the answer is no

 _Josh_ : brammmmmmmm pls be my wingman ur the only one i trust with a job that big

 _Krista_ : Bram you gotta come! The scrabble squad and a gay bar? It’s the perfect outing. And I know for a fact that you don’t have other plans tonight

 _Bram_ : And how do you know that??

 _Amy_ : She’s psychic, it’s kind of ruining our marriage.   
_Amy_ : Jk, I love it

 _Krista_ : Bram pleaseeee go with us, we need ur hot energy. You’re everything these guys want! Hot, fun, not a convicted felon…

 _Josh_ : that is a direct callout and i do not appreciate it  
 _Josh_ : also i wasn’t convicted it was just a misunderstanding

 _Amy_ : I literally have your mugshot framed, Josh, you can’t get out of this

 _Josh_ : let's focus on the important thing. Bram? Ya gotta come with us and be my wingman, or else…

 _Bram_ : Or else what????

 _Krista_ : Arson will happen

 _Amy_ : (remember that she is a psychic)  
 _Amy_ : also I’ll buy all your drinks

 _Bram_ : You could’ve just left it at that. I just need a ride there

 _Krista_ : I’m already on the way to your house. Stopped at a gas station.

 _Bram_ : What the fuck? How did you know?

 _Amy_ : she’s!!! Psychic!!!

-

Simon was reveling in the post-breakup blues, mindlessly watching Law and Order reruns while wishing desperately that he didn’t feel so goddamn _lonely_. He was also insanely bored, since he’d seen this episode four times in the last month, and knew that the dentist did it. Now the twist just seemed stale. He flopped on his back, heaving a great, dramatic sigh. This fucking _sucked_.

His friends had been sending him condolences for the past few days, but they just glanced off him, like throwing little paper balls at an iron fortress. All of the possible positivity just couldn’t enter him, the despair of losing his first boyfriend was just too strong.

He checked his phone for the umpteenth time that afternoon, wishing desperately for some good news. 

No notifications.

The desperate teenager in his brain wondered if Lyle was thinking about him. Since the breakup, he had switched Lyle’s contact name from “Cutie Pie(le)” to “Cheating Bastard”, and that was the only major thing he’d done to experience any catharsis of his emotions. He hadn’t blocked Lyle, just in case. He didn’t know what the “just in case” was for, but he didn’t want to close off all his options just yet.

 _Options_ , Simon mused. What he wanted was just a couple more options. To his knowledge, Lyle was the only guy who was actually interested in him, therefore his only romantic option. 

He wanted more cute guys in his life, more flirting. Should that be his New Year’s resolution? Why wait until New Year’s, he thought, and he sat up a bit more on the couch as inspiration stirred up in his heart.

He could get some cute guys _tonight_. He was driving distance from a gay bar, where there’d be everything he needed to get over this breakup: cute guys, alcohol, and loud music. 

The plan formulated in his mind, and he looked at the clock, realizing that the evening was about to start in earnest. 

For the first time since he and Lyle broke up, Simon felt _excited_.

He turned on his hype playlist, and searched for the gayest clothes he could find.

He was going to rock this club, without a doubt.

-

It was at some point in the car ride to the club, somewhere in between the fourth and fifth play of “Hey Ya” by Outkast (“it’s the best song ever written!” “that doesn’t me I want to hear it again”) that Bram realized that this was definitely a mistake. He was about to be an introvert in an extroverts paradise, and he didn’t even have a spouse to stick to. 

Knowing his friends, he also came to peace with the fact that they wouldn’t let him be a wallflower, and at some point, he’d have to be jamming on that dance floor. He scoured his mind for any possible dance moves that wouldn’t make him look like a grandpa, and sank a bit further in his mind when he realized that he had none prepared.

“So, do you guys really want me to dance? Because if I can opt out-”

The Boogie is _not_ optional, my good dude,” said Josh. “I am willing to teach you how to dance, Bramster-”

“Oh my god, don’t remind me of _that_ right before I do something gay!”

“The first step is admitting you have a problem, Bramster,” said Amy, turning the stereo down a little bit and twisting in her seat to Bram, who was cowering in the back seat.

“A problem with what?” he asked, already getting ready to be offended at the inevitable roast.

“You’ve got no game, my man! No finesse!” said Krysta.

“It’s all about being smooth and confident, and you’re sandpaper,” said Amy.

“That is… not true. I’ll have you know that everyone in my office is very attracted to me, according to my boss-”

“Isn’t he, like, 40? And what were his exact words?” 

“It was him _and_ Ethan who is gay and my age, I’ll have you know he said that I’m the hottest straight guy in the office, more or less,” and it took a long moment for Bram to realize where he went wrong, and he buried his head in his shoulders as the whole car erupted into laughter.

“Bram! Sweetie! I’m so sorry!” Amy gasped out in between big laughs, and Bram only groaned into his hands, wishing desperately that he had both a backbone and an ability to say no to his friends.

-

Bram wasn’t the only gay guy in a car on the way, since two cars behind them in traffic, Cal sat behind the wheel, thumping anxiously on the steering wheel while his own friends bickered. They were shoved into every possible seat of his car, so their petty squabbling was made all the more intense.

“Kathy, you ignorant _bigot_ , there is no way that Legally Blonde isn’t the best musical adaption of our modern age,” said Joaquin, the bassoonist in the orchestra. 

“You are so incorrect! It physically pains me. I need Advil.”

“Oh shut _up_!” said Joaquin, a little bit too loud. Cal shot them all a pointed glare, and turned up the radio with the opposite of subtlety. 

“Cal, tell him I’m right!” yelled Kathy over the music.

He just turned it up, already regretting this whole endeavor.

-

Simon was also, coincidentally, in traffic, rolling his eyes at the car who had rolled their windows down to blast “Hey Ya”. Simon just turned up his pump up music, all from a playlist that he stole from Leah. The sun was setting, casting a pinkish orange glow over the city, and Simon felt more vibrant and alive than he had since the Lyle business.

It was weird, he thought, being filled with all of this new energy, this hum of possibility in his blood. Maybe something new was going to happen tonight, maybe he’d find someone who wouldn’t be named “Cheating Bastard” in his phone. 

The world was his oyster, he thought. His big, gay, adventurous oyster. Traffic had stopped enough that he had reached a momentary standstill, and he absorbed the moment. He turned down his own music, and rolled the window down so he could hear the other car’s tunes a bit more clearly.

 _Say what you will,_ he thought, _but “Hey Ya” is a damn good song_.

-

Two plays of “Hey Ya” and one scuffle over the AUX cord later, Bram looked out the window as Amy pulled into the parking lot, bopping her head to “Single Ladies”. 

“Is this even a cool place? Do gay clubs have parking lots?” Bram asked, thinking back to all of the television depictions he’d seen of clubs in the thick of the city.

“Of course it isn’t cool. Why would we bring you somewhere cool?” Josh said, opening the door to cut off Bram’s yelp of indignation.

Bram decided to brush the roast off his shoulder, and climb out of the car, feeling too lanky and too conservatively dressed. Why did he wear a polo shirt to a gay bar? Hindsight is 20/20, he decided with a shrug as he walked in, trailing a bit behind his friends. He let them lead him in, through the cover charge and the doorway and into the bar itself, which was lit with some moody indigo blue.

An Adele remix was blaring through, and he cringed for a moment, because some songs just shouldn’t be bopped to. Nonetheless, he shouldered on, taking in his surroundings like it was an entire new world.

There were guys his age and older, on the dance floor and leaning against walls. There was a foosball table, which was absolutely dominated by a group of college aged kids. The were draped over each other, and they looked like a found family, they were so connected. It made Bram smile.

“Enjoying it already? Thought you’d have to have some of the groove in you before I saw those pearly whites,” said Krysta, softly elbowing him and swaying a bit to the song that was being blasted through the club.

“I think I’m enjoying it just fine,” he said, smiling a bit harder to the point of awkwardness, and Krsta laughed by his side. He let himself go a little farther, and let his head move to the melody, even if it was a dance remix of a song about love and loss.

-

Cal got there soon after, wearing a smidge of highlighter (Kathy’s idea) and a little bit peeved (Joaquin’s fault). He decided to dance the blues away, so he drifted off immediately to the dance floor, dragging Joaquin by the wrist, and wincing bit with the realization that he’d be stranding Kathy five seconds after they arrived. 

He shrugged it off, figuring that she could find company enough. He settled for turning to face Joaquin instead of dwelling on it, and moved to the beat. He was pretty single, he thought, so he added a bit of slow-eyed seduction into his moves. 

“I thought you were pissed at me?” asked Joaquin, catching on much more quickly than usual. 

“Play your cards right and I’ll forgive you,” he said, and the song shifted. He didn’t stop dancing, however, because Cal was no amateur. He’d made that mistake enough times.

“I Wanna Dance With Somebody” came on, and Call decided it was the perfect song for the night, and he unceremoniously plopped his hands on Joaquin’s shoulders, pulling him a bit closer as they danced.

-

When Simon walked into the club, looking (according to Nick) “absolutely baller”, he decided that this was the perfect night already: not only was he riding on the sugar high of a good hair day, but he also entered the club to the absolutely perfect song. “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”, perfect without a doubt. He _was_ going to chase these blues away. The night was falling, and his heart certainly was calling. 

He went to the bar first, trying to figure out the best order until deciding to just get a basic soda. He could deal with the complexity of alcohol later. All he needed now was the music in his ears and the sugar on his tongue, fueling him into infinity on the dance floor.

His gaze swept over the establishment, a large enough building with a good enough crowd. Not to mention plenty of cute guys. The place wasn’t necessarily _crawling_ with them, necessarily, but-

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” asked some guy from behind him. He turned around, revealing the can of soda in his hand. The guy in front of him was respectively cute, with a galaxy of freckles on his face and red hair. 

“Sure,” he said, deciding that tonight was the night to try new things. And hey, this guy was new. He certainly looked nothing like Lyle, he thought, before mentally scolding himself for thinking about Lyle. He shook it off, before catching up with his senses a bit. The euphoria of good music really did dim his functioning, because he realized that he had already bought a drink, and he wasn’t about to drink two things at once, he was adventurous, not a _maniac_.

“Wait, uhh… what’s your name?”

“Lyle,” the stranger said, and Simon almost dropped his drink.

Nope nope nope. Nopity nope, not gonna happen. What are the odds? Two gay guys in- it didn’t matter. What matter was that there was no way this was happening.

“Hey, you good?” the stranger/Lyle asked, his eyebrows furrowing at Simon’s face, which must have looked absolutely terrified.

“Sorry, um, Lyle. I just- I just got broken up with by, uhh, another guy. Also named Lyle. Who cheated on me, and you’re cute but- yeah. I’m not gonna hook up with a second Lyle. Sorry, man. Uh- bye,” Simon said, turning back on his heel, before realizing that he had no idea which way was which. He had no choice but to turn back to the man he just turned down. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Over there,” he answered, pointing to a corner, which had a stealthy sign. Simon shot finger guns at Lyle, and rushed away, wishing that he were anywhere else.

-

Meanwhile, Bram had found himself nestled in his own corner, sipping quietly on his beer while watching Josh make an absolute fool of himself on the dance floor. He was dancing solo, and absolutely living, judging by the way his arms were flailing even through the slow dances. It got him some dirty looks from couples, but he was setting fire to the dance floor, with or without approval.

Then, Bram got his first sign of trouble, because he saw the back of a head, one that was dyed in a wa that looked _just like_ Cal’s. Wild, he thought, taking another sip and letting his eyes trail back to the explosion on the dance floor, which had only grown in intensity since he noticed the coincidence that a guy on the dance floor had his coworker’s hairstyle.

It was uncanny, he thought, but his mind had turned into slush with all of the sensory overload: from the rumblings of conversation around him to the bursts of music and movement that he watched, all lit by party lights.

-

The thing about having a breakdown in the bathroom, Simon realized, was that it was very… unpleasant. No matter how many times he splashed his face with cold water and told himself that everything was fine, his brain just wouldn’t catch up, which was a dick move on his brain’s part. Simon fought the urge to cry: he just wanted to dance and be flirted with and _smile_ , and here he was, having a breakdown in the bathroom of a gay bar. 

Jesus Christ, his life had _changed_ in the last couple of months. 

Whatever, whatever, the thought, breathing in as he tried to give himself a pep talk. He was Simon fucking Spier, and he was going to chase these blues away, goddammit. The night was fucking calling to him, who was he to refuse. Then he heard it…

That opening “one, two three!”. Then, the drop.

“My baby don’t mess around because she loves me so…” Simon sang along under his breath. It was like life was breathed into him again, like the night was entering back through his skin. This was his time. This was his oyster.

He pulled himself up, and walked out, straight onto the dance floor, not letting a doubt enter his mind.

And with the drums pounding in his head, the wise words of Andre 3000 streaming into his consciousness, he fucking _lost it_ , and he let himself dance.

He danced until he sweat, until his hair got mussed up by the way he was whipping his head around. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall into the nirvana of the song of the night. The pains still stung on his face, lingering in the background of every chord, but he was dancing his heart out. He sang along, and spun around, responding to all of the call and responses. 

No one even tried to dance with him, he was so lost in his own world, so lost in this absolutely perfect song. Every lyric just sounded so perfect to him, and he did one final spin as the song began to fade out.

Apparently, his hands were not close enough to his body, because in the middle of his spin, he slapped a guy in the face. 

When the realized what he’d done, he’d twirled back around, looking at the guy on the dance floor, his partner looking down at him with alarm. Said partner cringed a bit as the guy let out a welp of pain, clutching his nose and still doubled over in pain. He looked Simon in the eye for a second, and proceeded to walk away, smooth as silk. 

Huh, what a douchebag.

This made his attention turn to the man still doubled over, who’s hair seemed familiar. Where had he seen that head of hair before, Simon wondered as he put a hand out to the man’s shoulder, causing him to raise his head up, hands still holding his nose.

“Cal?”

“Simon?” 

-

The second thing that Cal processed when he looked up, right after _holy shit, why does this hurt so much_ , was that _holy shit, Simon was here_.

With the lights flashing across Simon’s face, looking terrified and surreal, he processed the third thing.

 _Holy shit, Simon looked good_. 

Simon had this light sheen of sweat on his face, and was panting from dancing. The clothes certainly didn’t hurt: Gay Fashion looked good under these pink and blue lights. 

Cal looked around, and numbly noticed that Joaquin had fled. He didn’t have the energy to worry about it, all of his energy was spent being absolutely by Simon’s (very attractive) presence. Then, he was reminded of _another_ fatal fact: Nobody at the office (but Martin, naturally) knew he was bi.

“Are you okay?” Simon asked, now looking less panicked, his expression instead falling into plain old shock.

“It’s not too bad, I- I just… Hurts. It hurts,” said Cal, stammering over his words. His mind was too preoccupied with the music in his ears and the sight of Simon and the smell of cologne in his nose, and it hit Cal that he and Simon were standing closer than absolutely necessary. He didn’t take a step back.

“Why are you here, of all places?” Simon asked, and someone on the dance floor bumped him a bit closer, and as if it were natural as breathing, they started dancing together, moving a bit to the thumping beat. Cal still held onto his nose, wishing desperately for an ice pack.

“Me and my friends came. I’m bi, so-”

“Wait, you’re bi?” Simon asked, his eyebrow dipping handsomely. With that one shift of Simon’s face, Cal’s plans for the night changed radically.

“Yeah, I am. I don’t talk about it at work though, it just-”

“Never came up? I get the feeling,” said Simon, and Cal let his hand drop from his nose, bearing the residual pain with a slight grimace.

“Wanna dance?” Cal asked, even though they were already doing just that. 

“Sure,” said Simon, smiling a bit.

It was _on_ , thought Cal, already abandoning any plans of romancing Joaquin.

-

Bram didn’t know what was more painful: watching two of his coworkers that he wasn’t out to on the dance floor, but watching his crush dance with the HR guy. He slithered to the nearest friend, which happened to be Amy, and promptly tried to hide behind her.

“Bram, what are you doing! You were doing so well! You said hi to someone!”

“Simon’s here,” he said through gritted teeth, and when Amy didn’t hear that over the music, he had to say it even louder, which was somehow ten times more embarrassing than whispering it.

“Shit! Cute Simon?” she asked, and Bram nodded so furiously he was worried that his head might just pop off, “Here? Is he on the dance floor?”

“Yeah, with Cal,” said Bram, and Amy’s jaw was one second away from dropping.

“The HR guy? He’s gay?” Amy asked, looking almost as panicked as Bram.

“I don’t know! It sure looks like it! They’re dancing and-”

“Canoodling?” Amy unhelpfully supplied, but Bram didn’t have the energy to deal with _that_ Pandora’s Box.

“Yeah. I need to get out of here,” said Bram, frantically waving his hands around before realizing that moving a lot would draw attention to him, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted. What he wanted, ideally, was the become invisible. That was definitely ideal.

“Okay, okay. I can get Krysta, and maybe Josh, but just hang outside? Or any other good hiding places… the bathroom?” Amy asked, and she pulled out her phone, shooting a text to Amy and Josh for their forewarning. 

“I’ve never been here before, I don’t know the best hiding spots!”

“The just go outside! If you stick to a wall, we can probably leave before they leave,” said Amy.

“Oh my god, what if they leave together?” Bram asked, his face struck with horror. 

“That is the least of your worries, man. Right now, your focus is high tailing it out of here. Go now, we’ll meet you in the car once I round them all up,” said Amy, quickly rifling through her purse and tossing him her keys.

Bram could only follow her instructions, so he ducked his head and sped across the people, feeling like a fish in a river. Soon, he was out in the cool air of the night, and sighed.

He looked up the the night sky, cloudy and not starry enough. He hung his head, suddenly hit with such exhaustion. _Being in the closet is tiring_ , he thought, taking another deep breath in before taking a couple steps back, leaning against the brick wall. He got lost in his own thoughts, only vaguely aware of the guy a couple yards away.

“Hey,” this stranger said, and Bram whipped his head around. He quietly appraised the guy, stranger danger style, and decided that he probably wasn’t dangerous. He was kind of cute, with his red hair and freckles.

“Hey,” Bram said back, hoping that something good would come out of the night. Even if Simon and Cal were doing their thing, and even though it made Bram’s stomach hurt, he could always move on.

“What brings you out here?” the stranger asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I’m about to go. I came with a group, so just waiting for them all to get out here. What’s your name?” Bram asked, smiling a bit.

“Lyle, what’s yours?” the guy said.

Oof. Like Simon’s ex Lyle. This wasn’t the same guy, if memory from Martin’s show was correct, but _oof_. He considered it for a second, but then figured that he couldn’t do anything with this guy without thinking of Simon’s cheating ex. Even now, his mind was being flooded with memories of all of his (admittedly brief) encounters with OG Lyle.

Yeah, he couldn’t do this.

“I’m Bram. But, um, I kind of- I can’t date a Lyle. Or make out with one. There was this really shitty Lyle, you see, and now I can’t stop thinking of-”

“Jesus Christ, you too? Who the fuck is this Lyle guy?”

“He’s, uhh… not a cool guy. Anyway, I’m… gonna go to my car,” said Bram, feeling awkwardness creep back into his body. Ugh, of course this would happen.

“Bye,” said Lyle Part Two, waving off Bram as he skittered across the parking lot, unlocking and practically jumping into the passenger seat of Amy’s car. 

-

So you asked me why I’m here, but what brings you here?” asked Cal, his hands now comfortably on Simon’s shoulders as they did an upbeat facsimile of a middle school slow dance.

“Lyle dumped me,” said Simon, ducking his head a bit in what was either sadness or embarrassment. Cal couldn’t totally tell under the dim lights.

“I heard through the grapevine. He cheated, right?” Cal asked.

“Yeah. I just came here to get my mojo back, you know?” 

“It’s certainly working,” said Cal with a wink, taking in Simon’s pleased blush with a mental fist pump.

“Thanks for dancing with me… Sorry if I scared off your friend,” said Simon.

“No worries, Joaquin was a bit of an asshole anyway,” said Cal, punctuating his sentiment by spinning Simon around a bit, conveniently bring them a little bit closer. 

“I’m glad we’re, umm… getting to know each other outside of work,” said Simon. 

“Me too.”

They continued to dance a bit, until the song switched to a bonafide slow song, which was rare enough for this club. Cal had a moment of immense appreciation for whatever DJ decided to make this change, because this was _perfect_. This was also the perfect moment for Cal to make the move.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, and Simon looked at him in shock. Cal had a moment of panic, of the possibility that he was way too forward or misreading things or _fuck_ , what if Simon reported this to HR? He was HR… how would _that_ work? And-

“Yeah. I’m not ready for a relationship, though,” said Simon, and Cal realized that Simon was now the nervous one.

“Looks like we have another thing in common,” said Cal, before leaning in. Simon met him in between, and the beat thumped around them as the kiss deepened, so warm among the dancing pairs and swimming crowds. Simon separated, taking in a deep breath, his eyes wide.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking serious despite the flashing party lights on is face. 

“Yeah,” said Cal, and this time Simon was the one who leaned in, the kiss slowly intensifying, until reaching a crescendo, with the two of them pressed together as completely as possible.

Then the song changed.

An Adele remix. Definitely not the mood. 

“We should get out of here,” said Simon, and Cal’s smile turned absolutely brilliant. 

“My place or yours?” Cal asked, a little breathless. 

“Mine, I think. Or yours. Do you care?” 

“No,” said Cal, and he began the process of pulling Simon off the dance floor, moving in between the windows of the crowd, the only link between them being their tightly clasped hands. Soon, they were out of the thick of it, quickly walking through the bar before a shout interrupted them in their tracks.

“Cal! Where are you going?” Cal turned around. It was Kathy, looking absolutely _pissed_.

Payback was a bitch.

“To, um, hang out with my friend. Simon,” said Cal. Simon reached out his hand for a handshake, before realizing how clearly he misread the situation, and pulled his hand back, coincidentally right as she put her hand out to take the awkward handshake.

Simon and Cal cringed in unison, and Kathy’s smile only widened.

“You’re leaving alone? You’re my ride home. Also Joaquin’s ride.”

“Do you even know where Joaquin is? He’s probably left already,” said Cal, moving a bit closer to Simon, who didn’t deserve any of this. Simon was clearly getting uncomfortable.

“Oh, no! Joaquin is over there!” said Kathy with a fake smile, pointing over at Joaquin, who was watching them from the bar. Cal’s flush from dancing quickly became a blush of embarrassment. Kathy waved Joaquin over, and he joined the fray with a drunken swagger. 

“Isn’t that the guy you were dancing with?” Simon murmured to Cal, watching all of the Theatre drama go on with wide, terrified eyes.

“Payback’s a bitch,” murmured Cal, and Simon didn’t even have time to let his face fall in confusion before Joaquin added his own thoughts.

“I need a ride home, man. I can’t afford an Uber, and I’m not going to, like, steal a car just because you found some cute guy,” said Joaquin.

“Same here. Can you drive us home?” Kathy asked, like poison was dripping from her tongue. Cal looked between them and Simon, who looked totally freaked out by this tense power play. 

“Sure,” said Cal, his eyes slitted. 

“I have a car, and… uh… I can just drive home and you can meet me there?” Simon asked, feeling horribly awkward about it all.

“Yeah. Just text me your address,” said Cal, putting his hand on Simon’s shoulder as warmly as possible, as if to try to convince him that this wasn’t as bad of an idea as his friends made it seem, even though it definitely was. They shared a glance and a tiny, commiserating smile.

“Alrighty. Let’s jet!” said Joaquin, interrupting that tender moment. He led the charge, and the other three just followed behind him, walking with various levels of sheepishness. 

Cal bid Simon a goodbye as he walked back his car, giving him a kiss on the cheek and a smile, before pulling away and watching Simon climb into his car.

“You guys are bullies,” he said, watching Simon’s car peel out of the parking lot with melancholy. 

“What can I say, man. Payback’s a bitch,” said Kathy, and he got into his own car, sighing deeply and wishing that he were anywhere else.

-

Like at the beginning of the night, Bram sat in the backseat of the car, which was now quiet with both fatigue and anxiety.

“I can’t believe I almost got outed,” said Bram, sounding absolutely numb.

“I’m sorry we pressured you into coming with us,” said Amy, twisting around in her seat to face Bram, who gave her a grateful, if exhausted, smile. 

“It’s fine. I got some worthwhile experiences out of it. I got hit on, which was fun,” said Bram, smiling genuinely at the memory.

“Yeah, of course. Who wouldn’t hit on you?” said Krysta, and Bram felt so fond of the two of them in that moment. They were like the lesbian mothers he never knew he needed.

“Simon, probably,” said Bram, his smile falling a little bit at the memory of Simon and Cal so _close_. He figured that Lyle was okay, because Lyle was a faraway concept, but Cal… he worked with Cal, he saw him every day. 

“That’s because he thinks you’re straight,” said Josh, sounding dreary, like he was about to fall asleep. Bram looked over at him, and realized that yeah, that was definitely the case.

“As much as I love you guys, I’m going to follow Josh’s lead and take a nap,” said Bram, settling a bit into his seat and getting comfortable.

“This may be the first time that Josh isn’t a bad influence,” said Amy, eliciting a mumbled, offended “hey” from Josh, before it dwindled off into sleep.

“Goodnight hottie. One day you’ll be swimming in other hotties,” said Krista, and Bram let the exhaustion take over him, and he sank into his own nap.

-

An hour later, after Simon had taken a shower to wash off the sweat of dancing, and he had some real food, he heard the knock at his door, and felt his heart beat so fast that he feared for a second that it would jump out of his chest.

He raced towards it, before realizing that it might seem desperate, before realizing that it didn’t matter, because Cal was at his _house_. 

He arrived at the door, and he saw the foggy outline of Cal through the window. He took a deep breath and opened the door, revealing Cal, who was looking just as nervous as he felt.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Silence. Cal stood at his door, and swayed from one foot to the other, his hands in his pockets and his eyes wide.

“Wanna come inside?” Simon asked, wishing for the 198,428,283rd time that night that he knew what he was doing.

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!! comment to brighten my day, or my week, or even my life!! stay cool kidz


	9. Big Gay Midseason Finale

Simon woke up the next morning, feeling absolutely gross. Dried sweat clung to his skin, and his back had a persisting ache. There was also an overwhelming, sleepy sort of warmth surrounding him, and he had the urge to sink back into sleep despite the discomfort stringing its way across his body.

He only startled awake when the man next to him, providing much of the warmth he was absorbing, began talking.

“Simon, you up?” the voice asked, and Simon remembered that _oh_ , he and Cal slept together last night.

 _Oof_ , he thought, right after. _That_ was a bad idea. The realization hit him, and Cal took his tensing up as an answer.

“We, uhh…” murmured Simon, looking for the delicate way to phrase it.

“We probably should just-” Cal said, rearranging himself so there was some more space in between them, and Simon sighed in relief because they were definitely on the same page about this.

“That was a… uh, good time, but I don’t think we should-”

“Do that again,” completed Cal.

“Yeah, we’re on the same page.”

“Totally. We’re also on the same page about people at work knowing, right?” asked Cal, wincing a bit with the indelicacy of his words. 

“If your page is that no one will find out about it, then yeah, we’re on the same page.”

“Cool cool cool. None of that gossiping. Now, speaking of work-”

“Oh shit it’s a-”

“Yeah. I don’t have a change of clothes,” said Cal, and Simon felt himself flush with the realization that _oof_ , Cal wasn’t wearing any clothes for this conversation. Oh dear. 

“You can borrow some of mine, I guess,” said Simon, before belatedly realizing that _oofoofoof_ , he was naked too. Yoikes. 

“I feel like your stuff would be, um, a bit too big for me. You’re more broad shouldered, and tall, so…”

“You can, um, drive to your house? You brought your car, so I think it’s probably the most discreet pathway if you want to look like, uhh…” said Simon, wondering how he became so floundering and shy now instead of the night before.

“I catch your drift,” said Cal.

“You might be late for work,” Simon said.

“Yeah, that’s the least of what’s on my mind right now.”

“Cool. Yeah, that makes sense. So, um… do you want breakfast or?” Simon asked, desperately grasping at straws for the way to act in a moment like this.

“I’ll get something on the way,” says Cal, casually slipping out of the bed, keeping the sheet wrapped around his waist with a perfect, casual air. Simon had a moment of appreciation for Cal, because he was definitely good at this, at the awkward moments after. 

“So, are you going to drive naked?” Simon asked, his voice full of innocent curiosity.

“Simon, I’m trying to leave. I can drive in last night’s clothes, it’s fine. I won’t take any food, or goody bags, I’m just- I’m gonna boogie out of here,” said Cal, before awkwardly picking his outfit off the floor, working hard to keep the sheet around his waist. He proceeded out of the room, looking confident enough that it stressed Simon out even more because _holy shit he was bad at this_. 

Then, after a series of shuffles and stray noises, and then, after what felt like forever, Cal called through the doors.

“Hey, I’m heading out!” yelled Cal through the walls.

“Alright! Drive safe!” Simon yelled back, before flopping down on the bed, feeling some mix of tired and sore and not-that-regretful. He prayed to the Gay God, whoever they were, that things would turn out okay.

-

Bram got to work earlier than usual, holding a cup of hot coffee in his hand. This coffee itself said a lot about his mood, given that it broke his usual trends: it was hot coffee without anything added to it, no milk or sugar. It was bland, bleak drink, without much joy mixed into it. The cup wasn’t as nice as his usual fare, but it was way less expensive and took less time to make. 

In summary. Bram was tired and miserable, and the night before had officially kicked his ass physically and emotionally. He’d started to focus on some paperwork that he’d been putting off for the past few weeks, but the mindless field-filling had become a comfort in his stormy mind. 

“Hey kid, are you doing alright?” Albright asked, causing Bram to snap his head up.

“Yeah, yeah…” he said. 

“Anything you want to talk about? I’m here for you,” she said. She ventured a bit closer to the desk, and with her increased proximity she could see the bags under Bram’s eyes and the weariness that hung on him.

“I just, um, have a lot on my mind,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, his mind was absolutely swimming with questions about Simon and clubs and being gay and strangers named Lyle.

“You look like you do,” said Albright, reaching over to place a comforting hand on Bram’s shoulder. “Just know that you can talk to me, alright? The best thing about this weird ass office is that we’ve got each other’s backs. Even if it means going on late night visits to Olive Garden just to cheer Worth up, even if it means spending my paycheck in dumb mugs for everyone. We’ve got you.”

Bram was a little bit shaken by the unmasked sincerity in her voice, how simple and loving it was. 

“It’s a bit more serious than mugs,” he said. His hands fidgeted where she couldn’t see, and nervousness slowly coursed through him. Was this it? Could he tell someone? The secret was starting to eat him up inside, and these people _mattered_ to him in a way that made him want to break the news to them.

“It probably is. But it certainly isn’t ever going to be as serious as my need to support you all. Just keep that in mind, okay?” she said, before pulling herself away, slowly walking to the door of her office.

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready. I promise,” said Bram at her retreating back. She turned around with a soft smile on her face.

“I can’t wait.”

-

When Simon walked into work that day, fighting a slight headache and a twinge in his shoulder from an ill advised hickey. His sweater was also ill advised, considering that it was not only way too hot for the day, but it also scratched uncomfortably against his skin. All in all, he was sweaty as shit, uncomfortable, and a little bit embarrassed, though he didn’t really know what he was embarrassed about.

“Hey Simon! How’s the day?” Worth asked, breaking him out of his stormy reverie and into the sunny atmosphere of the office.

“It’s, uh, just starting,” said Simon. 

“There’s a meeting today, in case you didn’t get the email,” said Worth, talking like he was trying to soothe a scared animal. Simon realized that with his harried look and his unshakable stutter, that was probably what he looked like.

“Yeah, yeah, I got the email. I like the subject line.”

“You did? I put a lot of effort in it, if I’m being honest.”

If anyone would put effort into finding the perfectly punny subject line, Simon thought with a slight smile, it was probably Mr. Worth. 

“It was worth the effort. Made me smile,” said Simon, trying to focus on Worth instead of the persistent scratch of sweater against sensitive skin.

“I’m glad to hear it. Smiling employees are productive employees,” said Worth. Simon opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted with the opening of the door, revealing Cal, looking no worse for wear, save for the persistent bags under his eyes from staying up so late.

“Sorry I’m late, boss. The line at Starbucks was long,” he said in perfect monotone, walking neatly to his office without making any eye contact with Simon, which was frankly quite impressive.

Simon watched his back as it trailed off, and in a rare feat of social competency for Worth, he noticed but decided not to comment on it. He thought about it, though, remembered that Simon was gay and now single, and the idea was planted in his head before Simon could interrupt it.

“What’s the meeting about?” he asked, desperately hoping that Worth wouldn’t catch onto his off demeanor.

“The usual. Progress updates, a quick presentation from Cal, then a chance to ask questions,” Worth said.

“What’s Cal’s presentation going to be on? I thought we were caught up with all our training,” said Simon, despite knowing for sure that they were caught up. Few people could forget the Training Module Olympics of 2018, where the competition got pretty rough, to say the least. Some threats were made.

“It’s a little message from corporate about the way we use social media at work. I think something happened in the Milwaukee branch, so now we’re all getting the lecture.”

“It always happens in the Milwaukee branch,” Simon sighed, flashing back to the scores of presentations given after that office screwed up in a major way.

“Right? Milwaukee sucks!”

“I can second that,” said Simon. 

-

“For the first time in a decade, this isn’t the Milwaukee branch’s fault,” announced Cal, pointing his clicker at the title page of the powerpoint, gesturing towards the title: _Appropriate Use of Social Media in the Office_. 

“What? But Milwaukee sucks!” said Worth, earning a smile from Simon.

“No, no- Milwaukee doesn’t _suck_ , they-”

“They swallow!” said Leah, garnering laughter from the whole conference room (except for Cal, of course).

“Leah, that’s not an appropriate comment to make at-”

“It’s true!” interjected Abby.

“Doesn’t mean it’s appropriate! This whole powerpoint is literally on- jesus christ. Okay, let’s just… move on.” He clicked to the next slide, quietly stewing and physically holding something back. It took a second, where he looked to the slide, then at his feet, then at the slide again, and then the looked towards his amused coworkers. “For the record, this is your fuckup. Your internet histories are recorded, and corporate is really sick of having people google ‘how to tell your coworkers that you’re gay’ on company time.”

“That’s not social media, though,” said Nick at the exact time as Martin said “Oh my god, who was googling that?”

“I was not told,” said Cal as coolly as possible. There was a moment of icy silence over Cal’s glares, until a quiet voice spoke up.

“It was me,” said Bram, causing every head in the room rto whip to face him and his bashful, terrified expression.

“What?” Abby asked, leaning over and putting her hand on his shoulder, effectively taking advantage of her spot as the one sitting next to Bram.

“I’m gay. I didn’t know how to tell you guys, and this- impulse, y’know? Oh my god, this was not how I wanted it to go…” said Bram, putting his face in his hands, muffling his voice.

“Can we please continue with the presentation?” Cal asked, receiving enough evil eyes to kill a weaker man.

“Let Bram have his moment!” snapped Worth, eliciting a watery laugh from Bram, still muffled by his hands. “I, for one, support Bram and congratulate him for taking this big step.”

“Thanks, Worth. I appreciate the support,” said Bram, sincerity bleeding through his voice. It made Simon smile for reasons he didn’t want to examine (it probably had something to do with the cute gay guy in his office being nice to someone who’d become an unlikely source of support, but that was not too relevant).

“Listen, I don’t want to break up the tender mood but, um… Abby? You owe me twenty dollars,” said Ethan.

“This office is fucking _hopeless_ ,” muttered Cal, watching money exchange hands between at least four of his coworkers. He heaved a big sigh, and realizing that he had officially lost control of the room, walked out, going back to his office to take a well deserved nap.

-

“Bram?” 

Bram turned to face the entry to his cubicle, and nearly jumped in his seat at the realization that it was Simon, leaning a bit against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Oh, hey! Uhh… Simonster. What’s up?” Bram asked, swiveling a bit in his chair to properly face (the roguishly handsome, despite the uncertainty that remained in every movement) Simon, nearly knocking over a cup of pencils in the process. It was a near miss.

“From one gay guy who came out during an office meeting to another… I’m proud of you. That took some guts.”

“Thanks,” said Bram, taking in Simon’s serious face with wide eyes. He tried to remind himself that this was the guy who probably/might’ve/without a doubt hooked up with Cal the night before, but it was kind of hard to care when Simon’s eyes were just… sparkling like that.

“I’m going to get going, I think. Netflix is calling my name,” said Simon, starting to move away, before, as if drawn back by a magnet, his gaze caught Bram’s again. “And if you need anything, _I’m here_.”

With that, Simon walked off, leaving Bram staring at the entrance to his cubicle.

“Holy shit,” he said under his breath. It was _on_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for reading my friends!!! sorry for the wait... all 345345 of my wips are also demanding my time so my attention is a bit scattered tbh.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I have been thinking about writing this for a while, and I'm so glad that I can finally contribute to this awesome fandom!!! Please leave a comment, and feel free to follow me at TheSubtextMachine on tumblr (where psst, i accept requests). Have an awesome day!


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